#electric bones??? graves and rain??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tavvattales · 3 years ago

Text

Come Back to Me

GENSHIN IMPACT Character x GN Reader Angst Stories

Characters: Scaramouche

Pairings: Scaramouche x GN Reader

Warnings: 16+ for violence. TW- reader death please PLEASE read at your own risk. You have been warned.

Click below if you're ready to suffer.

As the storms begin picking up, the rain and wind violently whipping at your face soak you to the bone. Your eyes, stinging from the tears that started to fall at the sight before you, glossed over as you struggled to push forward. You seemingly call out towards nothing but a purple hue in the distance, glowing luminously, like a single star in the night sky, "Kunikuzushi! Please. . .do not make me do this!" You plead, your heart shattering with each word, "Please. . .I love you. I don't want to do this. ." You continue, reluctantly unsheathing your blade with a flick.

The purple hue in the distance grew closer with each unwilling footstep of yours. The grip of your sword grows tighter as you finally face your foe, The Balladeer, Scaramouche, your lover. Kunikuzushi's eyes are not the same as you remember, blackening and glazing over with a cruel gaze as he grins wickedly at you. Glancing him up and down, you notice the Delusion had taken a further hold on him than you were expecting.

Like a gloomy vine, the Delusion begins taking up half his face, much to your anguish, "Y/N, it's a shame you can't feel this surge of power. With the Gnosis and my Delusion, I'm indestructible. And yet I see you're prepared to go against me. ." Kunikuzushi says with seething resentment.

"Kuni-" you start

Before you can finish your thought, Kunikuzushi shouts bitterly, "DON'T. Don't you dare use that name. I am The Balladeer, Scaramouche," the bitterness now turning to animosity.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep painful breath, your tears still falling, you finally open them, meeting his indignant eyes, "So that's your choice then. . .I see." Your eyes felt hot, like white-hot daggers. Feeling a surge of remorse at your lost love, you raise your blade, preparing yourself, the rain still lashing the two of you in the face.

Lunging forward with your sword, you attempt to strike down Scaramouche. Still, he swiftly evades your blade with a sinister laugh, "Haha, I truly didn't think you had it in you," he says, feeling a prickling surge of electricity coursing through his veins as he readies an attack. The tips of his fingertips begin generating a purple ball of electricity, launching it towards you with a loud crackle.

Just barely dodging the quick attack, the electricity orb lands mere inches from your feet, causing a ripple to expand on the wet ground, shocking you. You groan from the sudden shock, feeling it buzzing through your body, but that wasn't enough to knock you down. Raising your sword to Scaramouche once more, you finally reply, "That's where you're wrong."

In a brilliant display of swordsmanship, you step forward, swishing your blade viciously. Like a game of cat and mouse, you finally, after what seems like hours, land a cut on his face. Wincing as blood trickles down his cheek, Scaramouche scoffs, blindingly letting another electro orb fly your way, "Oh, my dear, you made a grave error," he laughs, abruptly teleporting behind you as you dodge his ball.

As he strikes you down, for a brief moment, you see him. Kunikuzushi. For a split second, you see him fighting with his Delusion, a look of anguish distorting his face, his once lavender gaze pleading with you. Dropping to one knee, you cough up blood, reminding you of where the two of you now stand, "Hng. . .Kuni- I know you're still in there. . please COME BACK TO ME," you say, not giving up as you wipe the blood from your lips.

Again you see his eyes flicker. Standing up clumsily, your hands now shaking as you struggle to hold your sword, you finally drop it with a mighty clang of metal hitting stone. You extend your arms outwards, begging him to come back to you, "Kuni, please. ." you plead weakly. With every tired ounce of your being, you begin moving closer to him.

With a whack of your hand, Scaramouche grabs you by the throat, "I warned you. ." he says viciously, slamming you to the ground, knocking the wind out of you as his grip on your neck grows tighter.

Seeing your life flash before your eyes, you desperately reach towards his face, stroking his cheek, and with your last breath, you say, "I've always loved you. . ."

As your body grows limp and your eyes become lifeless, Scaramouche releases his grip, a painful surge shooting up his body as the last ounce of Kunikuzushi breaks free, "Hey, Y/N. .why are you so quiet. .this isn't like you. Throw complaints, yell at me, scream like you normally do. . .No, no-no-no. .Archons, please. ." he pleads, eyeing your body up and down and discovering the painful marks on your neck; a storm of guilt washing over him, "What have I done?! I'm so sorry, Y/N," the tears begin to fall as he desperately holds your body close to him, "Please. .come back to me."

#rebby writes #rebby rambles #genshin impact #genshin impact fandom #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact angst #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche angst #kunikuzushi #potentially triggering

274 notes · View notes

tmema · 2 years ago

Text

The Intersections of Hunger and Intimacy

I want to swallow you, have you melt into me and flow through my veins.

Han Kang, The Vegetarian

Do you see now? My tongue, the dagger at your jugular. My love, the sword at your bosom. Which do you want?

I.B. Vayache, “Loved via Purpose”

Please don’t go, I’ll eat you whole I love you so, I love you so.

Alt-J, "Breezeblocks"

Sometimes I think I would eat you if I could. There is a witch in a story who ate a girl she loved, and always afterwards when she spoke, flowers fell out of her open mouth. I would swallow you up, and you would be lobelia on my tongue for the rest of my life. This is what they say: it is not uncommon for us to want to eat what we love.

Mabel

I need your teeth in me, slow and vicious, to tell me my armor is just skin, bones, only bones.

Jamaal May

That’s when I thought of you. I know you’ll take care of me. You won’t eat me. No matter how much you enjoy the way I taste.

Eric LaRocca

I love you. I want us both to eat well.

Christopher Citro, "Our Beautiful Life When It's Filled With Shrieks"

What I know of love fits inside my mouth.

Amie Whittemore

Who will come into my kitchen and be hungry for me?

Jenny Slate, Little Weirds

Sometimes, you just want something so hard you have to lie about it, so you can hold it in your mouth for a minute, how real hunger has a real taste.

Ada Limón, "Lies About Sea Creatures"

I love you but there are things older and murkier than love. Things that live not in the heart but the entrails. I don’t want you to see me with the wolf. I don’t want you to see what he does to me. I don’t want you to see what i do to him.

Catherynne M. Valente, "The Red Girl"

The middle of a kiss, and though he opened up wide and wider, her own small jawbones gave a little crack and stuck, and look what happened: as if she’d fallen in an open grave, he swallowed her at last, and then she wandered in a dark saturated country where the red land throbbed with capillaries under electric stars. A kiss had brought her there a simple kiss that rained and filled her head with blood, a nightmare kiss, a wrong man kiss; why had she kissed a man with such a mouth, with such thick teeth and jaws, such a tongue, instead of kissing someone who would let her out, kissing someone nicer, who ate less.

Tony Barnstone, "Nightmare Kiss”

#°#just in case anyone wanted it separated from the ask post jfakjaskdjkdjsk #ive had many of those quotes saved for a while. they make me crazee.#tag later

7 notes · View notes

redrobin-detective · 4 years ago

Text

give lilies with full hands

“Ghosts at the cemetery, why am I not surprised?” Valerie grumbled under her breath as she glanced at the glowing dots congregating near Heavenly Gates, Amity’s largest cemetery. It was just after 5pm on a Friday; Valerie should be at home getting ready for a fun and relaxing weekend. Instead, she was speeding forward in the dreary pre-rain mist about to tackle a hoard of the undead. Her life was so strange and unfair sometimes it just fueled her hatred for everything ghostly.

As she approached the cemetery, she slowed down and had her ectoweapon up and ready to shoot. Instead of a fire fight, she found an eerie, unsettling quiet that sunk deep into her bones and made her unable to move. She just hovered above the cemetery and took in the full scope of the scene. The Fentons were here, hard as they were to miss but like Valerie, they were also frozen with unease. Mrs. Fenton kept fiddling with her weapons but couldn’t manage to lift it in a meaningful way.

The fog hung heavily around the cemetery, clinging like wet paint dripping down an unfinished picture. She could make out the unnatural glow of several ghosts, a few of which she recognized. That annoying child pirate ghost none of the adults could ever see was sobbing silently, curled up in a fetal position on the ground as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible. The biker guy and girl were cuddled into each other, leaned up against a grave looked scared and worn, flickering dangerously like static on TV. Val spotted Ember looking frightened and quaking looking like she wanted to run but was unable to. Her soft glow alerted Val that there was another ghost she’d initially missed.

The ghost was more shadow than anything, the fog moving through and from them. They were a swirl of greys and blacks in the approximation of a long cloak covering their face entirely. Pinpricks of bright lights shone from underneath the cloak’s hood. They bore down on Ember as if it were seeing deep into her soul and found her lacking.

Phantom was there too, he looked almost normal compared to everything else going on so it’s not surprising she’d missed him at first. The fog dampened some of his ghostly glow and he was standing properly instead of floating. Like Val and the Fentons, he seemed unable to move. The heavy drizzle in the air flattened his normally gravity defying hair. If she hadn’t known better, she’d say he was a normal person standing there, albeit one with weird fashion sense who went a little crazy with the bleach. And if Phantom looked human in comparison then just what was this new ghost?

“Amber Jablonski,” The ghost whispered quietly within the cemetery but Valerie could hear perfectly well, as if were being spoken into her ear. From the shivers she saw come from the Fentons, they were experiencing the same thing. Ember moaned, something deep and agonizing. She fell to her knees as more of her glow faded. “An eager musician just making a name for herself in her small town. A performance at a barn had faulty wiring. The building caught fire and Young Amber was trapped by debris and unable to escape.”

The flame in Ember’s hair burst into brilliant blue flames before painfully sputtering out like a candle on the verge of going out. A wisp like ghostly hand reached out and tenderly ran a finger down the side of Ember’s face like a mockery of the tears she could no longer shed. “Cause of death was severe burns across her whole body and smoke suffocation at the age of 22.”

“Enough,” Phantom announced suddenly, stepping forward through the ghostly arm putting himself squarely between Ember and the wisp ghost. The dead rockstar barely noticed, her whole form trembling as she looked down at the cold earth with absolute horror. Val wondered if she was feeling the cold of the cemetery or the burning heat of an out of control fire. “You’re killing her.”

“She is already dead,” the ghost answered, “as are they all. They are but echoes of lives come and gone.”

“That doesn’t mean you have the right to remind them,” Phantom said, looking more ghostly again. His aura flared suddenly and his eyes lit up like angry lightning bugs in a jar. “Death is sacred, it’s private and you’re using it to hurt them.”

“It is my duty, I am the Mortem Obire. I make the restless dead confront their own mortality, remind them of what they lost.” The ghost stared down Phantom who flinched but overwise stood his ground. “It is because of you, Danny Phantom, that I have been summoned to this realm. Your life essence has made these ghosts forget what they were. They flock to you, drawn to your vibrancy, seeking what they’d lost. The dead were straying from their existence, emboldened by your example, they were forging new purposes. I am merely correcting their assumptions to preserve the delicate balance that maintains the two worlds.”

“But death shouldn’t have to define them, I mean us,” Phantom pleaded. “They can grow if they want, experience new things. The end of life isn’t the end.”

“How very human of you,” the other ghost said breathily, an unnatural imitation of a chuckle. “Your death, if we can call it that,” the ghost said, “was born out of innocence and ignorance. Nature demanded the experiment fail but your naivety allowed for the flow of life and death to be disrupted. You looked at a machine you could neither understand or control and made the attempt anyway. Your hubris consumed you in the form of electricity, pain firing through your whole body as you screamed for a relief that never came. Your old body was obliterated and remade into the abomination you are now.”

Oh god, Phantom was electrocuted. He had lived his last moments as a human screaming and in pain. She knew he was vaguely around her age but it was one thing to know a kid her age had gone through that and another to hear it described. Without thinking, she lowered her weapons.

“Yeah I know that,” Phantom said weakly. “I took out the power in the whole city for a few hours which I felt bad about afterwards. What’s your point?” His glow was completely gone, the wet humidity of the air clinging to him much like how it fogged up Valerie’s suit. The shadow of the sinking sun made his white hair look dark and the greens of his eyes had faded into a less unnatural blue/green.

The only think remotely otherworldly about him was a faint pulsing glow coming from the center of his chest. It beat like a heart, a soft brightness that seemed to dispel the overwhelming feeling of death. Ember looked up from the ground, the pirate kid uncurled himself a little, biker guy and his girlfriend became a little more solid. They looked at Phantom with such awe and envy and grief it was almost painful to watch them stare at what they clearly lacked.

“My words hold no domain over your heart now, child of two worlds,” the ghost wheezed, floating past Phantom. “But someday you will greet death properly, be made humble by it, and I will be there to remind you of how fickle and fleeting that precious life of yours is.”

“I-” Phantom defended, glowing slightly with his eyes once more an ectoplasmic green. But now it was obvious to see how much more lively and present he was compared to the others. She still hates him, will probably still hunt him but while she knew Phantom was a ghost she knew, whatever he was, she couldn’t call him dead. Not with eyes so sympathetic and expressive and alive.

“Be gone, all of you mortals, this is a place for the dead,” the ghost commanded. The ghost hovered over to the Box Ghost who had been shivering behind a tombstone the whole time and suddenly went still as stone. “Your compassion for them does them no favors. This is the price for their existence, the dead cannot and should not forget. That is their purpose and this is mine. This is not an end to their existence, merely a reminder.”

Valerie never thoughts she’d see the Fentons flee from a fight but still she watched as Jack and Maddie slowly backed up until they reached their garish assault vehicle. They fumbled for the handles, not willing to tear their eyes off the ghosts before climbing in and driving off. Phantom looked torn, grief stricken as he watched the mist ghost, the Mortem Obire, speak softly to the Box Ghost. He looked like he wanted to interfere, to place himself in-between again but his shoulders slumped as he realized the futility of the action. This was the nature of death and memory and the living were not to interfere.

He glanced up at her, wary and saddened before disappearing from view, going off to wherever it was he lived his life when he wasn’t causing her problems. Valerie swiftly turned her board around and sped quickly in the direction of home. This had left her a lot of things to think about, about Phantom, about ghosts, about what it meant to stick around once your number was up.

But that was for later, for now she wanted to get out of chill before the rain started in earnest. She wanted to drink something warm, sit close with her father and feel their hearts beating in time. Valerie Grey wanted nothing more, in that moment, to simply breathe in and appreciate her life before it was taken and those happy memories used against her. She would not die full of regret for what she had missed.

#danny phantom #what the FUCK did I just write #I am a nurse and have seen people die and its clearly affected me #alt title was Robin goes crazy with the Latin and overemotional death metaphors #i swear this was going to be f u n n y #it started with the idea of ghosts being really affected hearing about their death wheras Danny was cracking jokes about it #but that got me thinking on the difference btw danny and the dead #bc no matter what fics claim danny isn't DEAD #he had a death he has ghostly powers but he lives not just in body but in soul #there are some aspects of being a ghost he has no place being involved #his inherent humanity seperates him from those who have lost theirs #And the dead feeling Dannys life energy and being drawn to him feeling more alive #that goes against the laws of nature of life and death #thus the mortem obire which literally means to face death #and its like this weird thing of like ghosts have feeling and memories and emotions but #they're also echoes of lives long past #that memory of their old lives is as terrifying as it is vital to their afterlife #it hurts them but they also have to have it #because they're not alive #to pretend to be so #to act beyond their agency it's uguhuuhu #idk this is too metaphysical for a sunday #wrote this listening to Taylor swifts 'right where you left me' bc for WHATEVER reason it had the right vibes

272 notes · View notes

midnightscxre · 1 year ago

Text

Drums of upcoming lightning echoed through the green valley wrapped in darkness, with nothing but stars to provide some light. An eerie sight to most, along with the sound of waking thunder that fills one's bones with terror, mixing with the whistling wind rushing from the west. . . such a sweet serenade and comforting surrounding to the possessed woman. It was not the demon that enjoyed this night blessings, it was the splinters of a human soul that was devoured by the new host, the things that healed her forever tortured spirit. A split second of lost memory -- small feet running though the tall, wet grass, thorns ripping the exposed ankles, tender hands brushing over the branches, but the pain was ignored, blanket of sooty shadows promising shelter, blazing electric arrow shooting through the sky leading the way, frozen drops of rain mending the invisible wounds. . . yes, Clare always heard the call of the dark. Call of those misunderstood, those who are feared but yet. . . experience much worse inferno.

Man's words snapped her from her thought, as the coal black eyelashes fluttered, hourglass shape turning to face him. Blank expression soon gained a grin, not mocking one but honest, accompanied with a blunt answer. " I assure you Elijah, there is no bone you can break, skin you can peel, heart you can pull . . . that can make me feel anything worse. " There she stopped, not explaining what she meant, not adding the needed detail to complete the sentence. Instead, Clare listened to the rest of his. . . offer as it seemed. Fresh wind kissed her ivory cheeks, as she inhaled the aroma of the tall pine trees. Night air was truly stolen from the heavens. What made the emerald greens to capture his was the last of his words. " I have nothing to lose. " Clare said at first, not intending to brush his offer away nor sound hostile. It was simply stating the facts. " When people say they aren't afraid of pain, most of them are lying. You can see how quickly they change their mind when the first blood drop hits the starving ground. But, when you are born into suffering, it becames. . . a routine. " A distant howl, then some music coming from the town, something a mortal could not possibly hear from this distance. Scarlet haired woman absorbed the sight in front of her. How fervently he dug his own grave to save his family. It was...fascinating and, what she never would admit, hear-rending.

" There is something, though. " Finally she spoke, pulling the sleeves of her leather jacket up. Like a tattoo, but made of scars, spilled along her wrist to the elbow. " I do enjoy a good demonic choir but. . ." Turning her arm, a few glowing symbols were exposed under the few strikes of lighting. " Sometimes the screams and growls get old. Sometimes I would like some peace and quiet. And they don't exactly react on ' please shut the fuck up ' and its hard to ignore them when they are inside of you. " A laugh, much more careless that it should be, almost playful, pure. " Point being, the witches have a spell in their dusty books that can help solve my problem. . . so, if I help you, there is my payment. " Clare -- lied. Well, in a way. There was indeed a spell for what she described, but she didn't need it. All she needed was an excuse to offer her help and mask it with something. It was easier to be a bitch with no heart to the world, that much she learned.

Starting to walk, she continued. " But we will have to make a few stops...see, witches bitches kind of made a plan b, you know, if I fail and you came after them even more pissed. " Pointing to the mountains, she continued. " Your sister has a few spells on her, there are as many traps and foot solders as you can imagine so. . . how do you feel about working with werewolves? Heard they can sniff out almost anything..maybe they can find a damn way in that is not cursed. " a small pause. " And also. . . there is still a problem with your brother. If you don't mind me asking, what are you getting from chasing a man who clearly has no respect for your concern?"

There was a change in her and despite his current state of captivity, he watched in fascination as it came over her. She almost looked normal, although he conceded there was no easy way to define such a thing. Her words soon confirmed what he had already thought --- she was under the orders of others. She was their attack dog and they had sent her out with instructions to bare her teeth. He had to wonder just what caliber of villain (if he could call them that, considering what he and his family had done) he was dealing with. Obviously they were powerful enough to rope something such as her into doing their bidding.

And she was rebelling.

Elijah raised his eyebrows as she carefully worked to undo what she had done. He was under no misgivings that anything he had said had led to this reversal. It was her choice, her doing --- her attempts to throw off the yoke of her masters. But given his perilous situation, he would take what he could get.

She soothed the wound that she had created too and he couldn't help but show relief at that. Even as she cut into him with her words instead, because he could deny the truth to what she was saying. He did give (and give and give) and he would continue giving. It was the role that he had assigned himself and he could not turn his back on it now. His family needed him, even if they took far more than he was able to handle on some days.

Elijah stepped free, his mind on his sister and the steps necessary to free her. He watched her retreating form and then quickly moved to step into her path. "Here is where I would have caused you a great deal of pain if I was so inclined," he told her carefully. There was still a part of her that wanted to. He could picture himself ripping into her, causing her pain even if it would cause him pain in the end. He knew where that part of him came from and he fought back against it. He could not let that overcome him. He was better than that (or at least that is what he told himself).

"But I am prepared to show kindness in return. Or at least, a way for you to solidify the position you have decided to pursue. I know what you have done here will cost --- but it needn't cost you dearly. Those witches, the ones who have my sister, the ones who leashed you --- they would be no match for the pair of us."

#I am sorry for the length -- i try to hold back and it just eh turns to this #taintedbloodlines: elijah #ft. clare

23 notes · View notes

onceupona-chaos · 4 years ago

Text

The Storm

Notes: So, I did something. Maybe there will be a part II, but I wanted to post this one first and now I can only hope whoever read this, might enjoy it. Also, forgive for any mistakes, English is not my first language, but I wanted to try something knew and practice a little.

Warnings: language, self-harm and slightly NSFW.

Enjoy! 😊

Elain was trying hard to pretend she wasn't picking a fight with a bush after spending the entire afternoon working in a elderly faery's garden. She didn't know how old Arya was and didn't ask either. Despite the wrinkled face that made her expression look grave at first sight, Arya was gentle enough to bring a fresh lemonade cup every few minutes. Even if Elain hadn't finished hers, it would be replaced by a full cup with two ice cubes and the right amount of sugar - and a warm smile from Arya.

So when she had sent word asking if her garden could be fixed, Elain gladly embraced the distraction, even though it didn't seem to be a particular good day for gardening, if the cloudy sky was any indication.

Kneeling on the dirt, she had been digging and pulling for hours now as she tried to get rid of the ivys surrounding the beautiful blooming roses.

Usually her gardening was a pretty distraction - her mind would focus entirely on what she was doing, her hands moving on their own accords, until every single thought that made her throat tighten was nothing but mist in the distance.

But lately something's changed.

Hateful thoughts, old anguishes, almost familiar as any part of her body, and new ones found themselves in her mind, making her remember what she longed to forget. She didn't bother to wear gloves, wanted the feeling of rough rocks and sharp thorns against her skin. Wanted to focus on the physical pain, to be as far away from her own mind as possible.

And yet it wasn't enough to keep those too many thoughts, cravings and needs at bay.

Her frustration grew with each passing second, her work getting sloppy when a thunder filled her ears.

It was definitely not a good day for gardening.

Elain couldn't decide what was worse: that her work no longer pushed her thoughts away or that she was literally fighting a stubborn rose bush, pulling a branch out with both hands and groaning a curse that would make Cassian proud.

Elain pulled and pulled, the branch slowly, Gods, so slowly giving up - and then it broke in half, leaving the part covered in thorns still buried deep in the ground. She didn't hesitate though, just wiped the sweat off of her forehead, grabbed the branch, thorns and all biting her skin, and started again.

When Arya came back once again, the lemonade cup hit the ground.

She looked at Elain, taking in the blood staining her cobalt dress, big red drops running down her hands. "It's nothing to be worried about, it's already healing."

It wasn't a lie. But Arya still insisted that Elain went home, claiming that a beautiful lady like her shouldn't remain covered in blood and sweat. A scream caught in Elain's throat that bagged for a few more minutes of distraction, just a few more. But she knew Arya was thinking about her well being, so she made a gentle smile bloom on her face and thanked her for the limonade.

"Hurry up now or you're going to get caught in the storm."

Indeed, Elain could already smell the rain, the air charged with electricity, the wind colder than usual, the promise of thunder and lighting.

Yet her steps were lingered, heavy as she walked by the vibrants streets of Velaris

When the first drops came… she tilted her head and let them pour over her, only wishing it could wash away every burden in her heart.

It didn't take long for the cold rain to soak her, making her own bones shivered. A walk back to the lake house would took long enough to make her catch a cold and since being stuck in a bed was the last thing she needed, Elain made her way to the town house. It was still empty, but at least she could warm up and wait for the rain to pass by.

Elain had just crossed the front door and immediately sighed as she felt the cozy warmth. She was freeing her hair from the braid, combing it with her fingers, taking in the sitting room of the empty house - and froze. Because that was a very, very light fireplace. She only had time to take a step back when the scent of mist and cedar hit her nose.

_______________

After a long visit to the eyes and ears under his command, one would think Azriel would take a warm bath and go for several hours of sleep to put away the feeling of the cold rain against his wings that had chased him for miles and miles.

He could have winnow into shadows. But he hoped the exhaustion of flying through the storm combined with a hot bath to relax his sore muscles would help his body to give in to some poor, few hours of sleep.

Azriel had just gone out of the bath, his hair still damp, when he heard the front door shutting. A shadow curled around his ear, registering someone's presence, and he made his steps quiet as death, aiming for the sitting room.

He hadn't seen Elain alone since Solstice and even at the few dinners on the river house he still tried to attend, Azriel could barely look her in the eyes, the memory of her pain too much for him to handle.

But there she was.

She was staring at him, wild-eyed, soaked to the bones. He allowed himself to drink the sight of her, let his eyes travel slowly through her face. Usually, in those dinners, he would hardly steal a glimpse in her direction - well aware of Rhysand's eyes almost daring him to challenge his orders. But here, alone… It was exactly this kind of situation he tried so hard to avoid, knowing it would be the death of him.

Azriel's eyes dropped to her body, the wet fabric hanging to every curve, and spotted the dark red stain on her dress. He scanned her furiously, looking for injuries, stooping at her bloody hand. There were only a few drops, the rain must have washed the blood away - but it was enough to make him want to roar at the sight of it, the predatory instincts inside him ready to kill and kill and kill whoever was responsible. Before he could say anything though, Elain blurted, "I… I thought the house was empty."

Her voice was almost a whisper above the rain, but the words hit him with the force of a thunder. Azriel swallowed hard. He knew she wasn't looking for him. Not after Solstice. But the way she'd say it...

Without even thinking, he closed the distance between them. Elain lifted her chin to keep her gaze locked with his.

Even in a filthy, soaking dress, her damp hair grabbing to her neck, her bloody hand… She was so breathtakingly beautiful, so full of light.

He took her hand in his, so delicate between his scarred fingers. The soft skin marked with small scars, no doubt from her gardening. He turned her hand, exposing her palm and saw the multiple, small bruises. His calluses brushed hers as he asked, "What happened."

She was shaking slightly, not only from the cold rain, "Usual gardening."

He couldn't take it. It was some kind of cosmic joke to be in an empty house with her, so many words hanging between them. He wanted her to know them all, but some he didn't know how to say, and others he couldn't .

Azriel almost choked on his own pain. He stared at her, letting every feeling unsaid, his own longing and despair, rise to his eyes, unable to stop it as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Her doe eyes flickered, and Azriel knew she saw beyond those words. She knew he wasn't talking about her bruised hand still in his, the only connection between their bodies.

And when Elain squeezed his fingers, he knew she understood him. Perhaps not everything, but enough.

Azriel didn't know for how long they stood there, watching each other, their hands still intertwined, the rain pouring outside, the sound of heavy drops hitting the roof interrupted only by the rumble of thunder. Without knowing who moved first, he realized his face was inches from hers, enough to share breath. Elain inclined her head and brushed his nose with hers, the gesture so tender.

A moment later, their mouths collided at last and everything else faded away.

Her mouth was soft against him, and the scent of jasmine, honey and rain filling his nose made his eyes roll back behind his eyelids.

Such a sweet kiss as if The Mother or whoever was wanted Azriel to just have a taste of what he couldn't have. Despite every cell in his body screaming at him, Azriel made to pull away, but Elain held him in place and brushed her tongue against his bottom lip. He moaned her name and yielded himself to her.

The kiss wasn't desperate or frantic as Azriel had imagined it would be for so fucking long. No, the kiss was slow and deep, like pouring honey. Their thongs danced with each other, stroking and caressing.

And her taste… like honey and spring sunrise. He couldn't get enough. He needed more, needed her printed in his very bones, until their souls intertwined.

He was breathing hard, one of her delicate hands wandered across his chest and arms, the skin beneath her fingers burning. Elain traced every muscle, every inch of tattoo ink, as if to reaffirm he was real, that he was there. She buried her other hand into his hair, pulling slightly, and Azriel let out a sound between a moan and a purr, barely audible above the rain.

The world faded away and there was only her, only her mouth, her scent, her body. He needed her closer, wanted to merge himself with her so they would never be parted.

Everything about that kiss was so sweet and so sensuous as if it was a song sent from heaven to lure him to the deepest of hells, where every sinful idea would take form. It was his paradise and ruin, and he was utterly, thoroughly hypnotized.

He'd lovers, many throughout the centuries. But he never felt so drowned, so lost and found at the same time. Nothing had ever felt so good, nothing. Azriel could only pray to the old gods that at least one part of him would be his at the end of it.

They continued that taunting dance, touching, exploring, seducing. Their tongues met stroke for stroke until Elain parted and sucked on his bottom lip, and any sane part of him ceased to exist.

Azriel groaned and his hands moved from her waist to find that generous, gorgeous backside of hers, squeezing possessively with both hands, making her moan into his mouth. Elain ondulated her hips, pressing herself against him, and gasped when she felt exactly how much she was affecting him. How much power she had over him. A small smile curved her lips and Azriel traced it with the tip of his tongue.

More more more

Azriel could feel her shaking in anticipation, smell her arousal in the air.

He was going to devourer her inch by inch. He was going to -

Elain suddenly pulled back just enough to look at him in the eyes, and Azriel almost fell on his knees. Sheer desire was printed on her face, those pink, perfect lips swollen, making his mouth watering. A blush stained her cheeks, and he wondered what other places he could make her blush. He needed to know them all.

But all of that was nothing compared to that look on her face. The honey-brown almost entirely gone, her eyes flashing with molten desire as if those black expanded pupils were windows to her soul and his particular way through.

Both of them were breathing each other's air. Elain stared and stared and stared at him as if she was undoing every single wall and shield he'd ever raised.

Azriel let her. Didn't need them with her anyway.

He cupped her face with his hand and brushed her cheek with his thumb, making her shiver. His eyes never left hers, and he could almost see a bridge of light and dark taking form between their souls, honey-brown and hazel in each end.

When his thumb moved to trace her bottom lip, Elain cupped his hands with hers, mouth parting slightly before she kissed the tip of his finger. Azriel didn't know who he was, where he was, because there was only her, only that female accepting every part of him.

Then Elain sucked his thumb into the wet heat of her mouth. Pure desire ran through his body like a lighting straight to his groin, and he had to brace his other hand on the wall to keep himself standing, to not fall on his knees.

Elain let go of his thumb, her eyes glimmering in a way he'd only dreamed about. She inclined her head, baring her throat, and Azriel knew he was in deep shit.

He couldn't help the sound that came out from somewhere deep inside of him, his nostrils flaring at the sight of her delicate, creamy skin covering her pulse point and totally exposed to him - and only him.

Offer and permission.

A thunder rumbled outside, but all Azriel could hear was his blood singing her name as he lowered his head and brushed his nose along the side of her neck, breathing greedily and letting her scent fill his nose, his lungs. Elain arched a little, asking for more.

Azriel then kissed her neck tenderly. Wanted to savor every second of it, every taste of her. Didn't want to rush this - not with her, not when he had the chance. He prayed that the storm would never end, wanted to take his time, worship every part of her body until one stroke at the right place would be all that would take to make her come. Hard.

He kissed the spot beneath her ear and where her neck met her shoulder. Elain's hand tightened, pulling his hair in silent command. Azriel bared his teeth, brushing his canines against her pulse point. He pressed lightly - just enough to make his teeth sink into her skin, claiming her.

Elain moaned louder at the sensation and tightened her hold on his hair - and pure male smugness washed over him. Because he was the one she bared her throat to. It was his mouth on hers, his hands covering her ass. He could already smell his scent on her, mist and jasmine, cedar and honey.

And it was his name she moaned.

"Azriel."

Before Azriel could unleashed himself, he first dropped to his knees.

#elriel #elriel fic #elriel fanfic #elain x azriel #my writing

133 notes · View notes

ketavinsky · 2 years ago

Note

hi so i did a quiz you linked and got 'day.' where is this character/deity from? super interesting that the daytime is so incandescent so i gotta know more

!! Hello! Finally i have some time to rant and rave about my boy, my scorching sun, my droughtsummer divinity! Day, and the rest of the deities from that quiz, are from my longstanding novel project that is very tentatively called In the Old World, the Stars Spoke to Each Other.

Chucking a readmore here because I really need to get my thoughts out about this dude, seeing as he's more or less the pivot around which the whole series revolves, as well as the foundation of the magic system asdjgkl.

Day is one of five gods of the Sect of Silent Spaces; the others, as mentioned in the quiz, are Dawn, Dusk, Night, and Twilight. Twilight, a sea goddess, is by far the youngest, Dawn and Dusk are siblings, and Night and Day are in consistent conflict over who is older than who. I had some big ideas over them representing Space and Time respectively, once upon a time.

Day is essentially a sun god and is by far the most powerful out of all the deities in this universe because he can actually act for himself. There is another, Starface, who is an avatar for the universe itself, but it is confined to the void of space due to its inability to be contained on a mortal plane, and as a result can only act through hosts or conduits. So he's kind of a big deal! The lore for this is split into five chapters, with the actual novel series occurring in Chapters Four and Five (Eclipse and Black Hole Sun), but Day's actions in One to Three (which are set between the Qin and Qing dynasties) are pretty pivotal to how things go!

In his original form, he is a six-armed locust harpy young-god prodigy gilded king, paragon above all his peers, neither a good nor just deity, but not necessarily an unkind one either. He's a whimsical little dude, a manifestation of entropy with heavy motifs of circles and cycles.

I took... a long time to answer this ask because I was digging around for my original concepts for him, and this is from 2014 and so wildly outdated, but probably gives a decent feel for the kind of creature that he was. A common theme in all of his iterations is that he doesn't have a face, per se: look upon Day and you are likely to see the gilded skull of a cadaver, a flurry of locust wings, three hyena heads, an electric concentric halo, a melting pool of bronze, a cluster of blinking eyes.

He's also one of those "look too long and you'll go mad" types, which while being something that he can't help, does factor into his cruelty later on.

Phew, the 2014 draft. Messy stuff, rivalled only by the 2016-2017 draft, which is truly a shitshow. Anyways. This is the most up-to-date draft I have of what Day looks like, from a scene where Dawn is visiting Day.

His realms are in deserts and waterfalls and long boundless places where the wind seems to rush in from other times and worlds and planes of reality, and the lengths of his cloak appear to be crafted from glass but they are in fact mirages of the future ever-expanding and distorting. Granted, Day is not a deity who is particularly concerned with fate, stability, order- those are the dominion of his wife, Dusk.

Dusk is stillbirth and bone graves and overgrown valleys devoid of mortal interference; Day is chaos and lightning storms and the smell of rain so thick that it lingers in your nose and your mouth and seems to whisper with your tongue something is coming, something is going to happen, something's already happened, it's on its way. Those who enter his presence will become disoriented, lost in what has already happened or premonition for what is going to happen. Time itself flows strangely around him, and there's a lot of looping in Chapters One to Three. The five deities make the same mistakes and live the same half-lives, over and over again, with Day at their center, gradually but unmistakably decaying.

Most relevant to the whole showdown is Chapter Three, aptly named Daybreaker, where he completely loses his shit. The five all revolve, narrative-wise, around ideas liiike divinity and humanity blurring together, the hypocrisy of deities who demand perfection and damn their mortal subjects for failing to live up to this ideal despite being hilariously imperfect themselves, the search for beauty in the eternal where the joy of life is in fact in mortal transience; the failure of these divinities to realise this. Despite being an entity of entropy, Day develops a deep disdain for mortal beings due to their inability to make any meaningful change on his scale; despite being a locust god, he likens humanity to a massive swarm of roiling, thrashing, blind-and-hungry insects, and he starts to hate them for it.

Day cannot tolerate stagnancy; Day cannot bear the idea of himself unable to change; Day resents that he contains the enormity of possibility inside of him, but he can't do anything meaningful with it. He cannot alter fate, he cannot create, he can distort and disrupt and fuck around and find out but cannot give any of it meaning. He is a disembodied god in a confusing, horrifying world who can't die, unlike Dawn who, as a phoenix, can kill and resurrect himself, and Dusk who is basically undead. He has no will to go on as he is and he cannot create any new meaning for his existence because that, the creation of something out of nothing, is a skill that is restricted to mortals with their inconsequential lifespans and bizarre appetites, and he hates it. It takes quite a few... dynasties for him to realise this, and a lot of... honestly vitriolic disruption and unneeded advice from the other four that becomes a major plot point later, but all in all-

By the end of Chapter Three, Day becomes a hateful spitfire god that resolves to devote himself to destruction if he cannot create. Locust lord, Apollyon-alike, Abomination Almighty, the center of an atrocity. This is the Day that the quiz revolves around! He reckons that what he does is cathartic; the rest of the world is rightfully horrified and decides that he's a massive fire hazard.

After he completely loses control over his form, Dusk eats her own heart, a symbolic gesture as she cannot afford to waste time mourning her husband, and she and Night imprison him in the core of the earth.

And then Chapter Four/the Age Where the Stars Stopped Speaking, starts, which I am actually writing for. Due to the fact that he’s trapped in the core of the earth with 1000 chains and tassels and binding scripture, he doesn’t interact with people much until the final act, but he can possess his secretary, the Chimera, to talk to people.

I wouldn’t call him a villain in the actual novel until... well. Much Later. The current outline for the final act is that Dust releases Day from his prison, and he is given the vessel amalgamation of his secretary and his younger son, Obeir, the porcelain giant. And then he lives in their body as a Biblical angel-esque creature. I have a tag for him that’s called I think Ramiel of the Wretched!

However, Day’s eldest child, Ofluxe, and his court, are the main villains for most of the novel! Ofluxe is inspired by the alchemical magnum opus and perfect union of man and woman, the Rebis, and his whole thing is that he was stolen from his mother when Day started becoming malevolent, but ended up inheriting Day’s great rage and misanthropy anyways. Day did not become a malevolent god until quite late in his life; Ofluxe kind of speed-runs the whole process.

But, yeah, Day doesn’t make his huge appearance until Chapter Five. As the story revolves around Dawn’s eldest daughter, Minuet, who was Day’s mentee up until Daybreaker, and Night’s sons, the majority of his appearances are interactions with them. I have no idea how to link documents and I haven’t posted these scenes anywhere so here’s a draft dump of Day interacting with Minuet, with Night as a buffer.

Silly-billy Day dialogue:

And this is a draft of a scene, also between Day and Minuet, that occurs in Chapter Five/Black Hole Sun, when he’s been stuffed into his new body.

It’s mostly just them yelling at each other. Day does a lot of yelling and complaining in ancient languages. This is the only scene I really have where he’s not yelling, and it’s from a flashback sequence from Dawn going to meet Day.

But, yeah, here’s my guy! My he/they/it king. My sweet cheese, my rotten divinity, my bad-time boy.

I regret that I don’t currently have any art of him because he is... very difficult to draw, buuuut I do have some AI-generated shots of him that come very very close, especially in his Ramiel of the Wretched form, that I might post at some point. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk!

#magnicidelover #dellete #my writing #i actually really enjoyed finally getting a big loredump out because . well .#im really unhappy with the previous drafts!!#but here he is my boy my dude my fucked up guy. worst guy ever. one of the worst guys ever. maybe #day #ch5 final form / ramiel of the wretched #black hole sun /ch5 #ofluxe #minuet #starface #heavy is the head that bears the crown of the cosmic especially #aite i need a proper. writing and wip tag #chimera #in the old world the stars spoke to each other

5 notes · View notes

bahbahhh · 2 years ago

Text

@zelinkweekofficial

also on A03

Suggest Listening - Lindsey Stirling ft. Amy Lee - Love Goes On and On

Set in the same story as The Killing Moon. You don’t need to read it but there is context you will miss out on because I take canon and set it on fire. An expansion of a tiny memory sliver in Chapter 7.

Happy Zelink week, y'all.

----

Burning embers flurry around them in the wind. It is almost beautiful.

Guardians swarm over the field; spiders on a web of earth torn up. He can smell smoke and rain. The taste of his own metal is in his mouth. Zelda stands behind him. He can feel her shivering with adrenaline, her hands on his back, trying desperately to peel him up from the ground.

How many hours had it been since he pulled her from the Spring? Where the last thread of restraint he had snapped under the weight of her sorrow? When destiny clicked into place with a kiss?

She’s still in that ridiculous gown. It folds around him like a burial shroud.

When her strength fails, she begins pleading with him in a hushed whisper. “Link, save yourself. Go! I’ll be fine! Don’t worry about me!”

Too much blood pools in his mouth. He gags, leaning on the Sword so he can remain upright. He won’t waste breath telling her to leave him.

They are standing in a shared grave if he can’t figure out how to get them across the field. If he can-

Link looks up through a curtain of wet hair. In the distance their destination, Fort Hateno, is under siege. The stronghold is on fire, a burning Cheshire smile cracked wide on the horizon. A skywatcher whips around violently and crashes into the barrier, exposing part of the bailey and the garrison like a nerve. Guardians begin to scale the wall.

His entire body throbs, electricity shooting between damage points until he has a map of the carnage. Parts of him are missing. Entire pieces carved out by blasts from red lasers that trailed them relentlessly all the way from Hyrule Field.

He won’t make it out of the swamp.

There is nowhere left to run.

A stalker emerges through the blackness in front of them. Flushed with corruption, gears chittering. A blue eye fixes on Link and bulges triumphantly. Link is certain one of his legs is broken by the way it screams at him to ease the weight of his body off it as he rises, but he rises anyway, pushing himself up as a shield - his last shattered a mile ago - in front Zelda.

It lifts high on six metal legs over the rubble. A laser beams out and marks the center of Link’s chest. He can’t even lift the Sword.

“No!”

A star falls from the heavens in front of him. Blinding, golden light. The entire world bleaches whiter than white and then snaps back like a rubber band with Zelda at the center. The Guardians around them immediately power down, folding in on their legs under the weight of lifeless casting shells. Energy burns off them and disappears into the sky with a sudden gust of wind. As brilliantly as she burned, she fades in an instant, balking at her hands in front of her.

The sight of it takes the last of his strength.

“No, no!”

He doesn’t remember falling but he’s flat on the earth when she reaches him, gathering him up against her. Link is so proud. He wants to tell her he is so fucking proud of her but he’s unraveling quickly in her arms. The tide pulls more of him away with every wave.

Zelda's speaking mostly to herself, rattling off a prayer of feeble assurances, trying to figure out how to plug the holes in his body with her Power. She tells him he's going to be fine, that she's right with him, that she loves him. He sighs in relief, the breath rattling in his throat. With her Power awakened, she is the sun and all the stars in living flesh.

If only he could stay and witness her exhume the bones of the Kingdom that doubted her.

Tears splatter on his face. Goddess, she’s warmer than the rain. Through the cracks he begins to split and look at her with different eyes.

(He’s floating away on a Red Lion in the sea.)

Link can feel her trying to pour gold into him.

(He’s on all fours, head bowed, confined to the atavistic form of Twilight's curse.)

Her Power rolls off him and spills onto the earth. She commands him not to leave her.

(The air smells like sulfur and burning flesh. Hylia’s Realm has been torn open at the seams, a festering pool of black rot remains. Evil’s thumbprint. A glimpse of the world He promises to build. Link can feel a shiver of courage stretch over his skin, the invisible net he cannot escape. It strains and begins to pull him toward his soul’s destiny. He braces himself over the gaping mouth of Hate. Over his shoulder he can see her, glowing dimly where she fell. Nearly soulless. Fading. He’s her only chance.)

He looks at her.

(They stand face to face in the sky. She’s holding an ocarina with both hands and he only realizes what she is doing just as she moves to do it. A flute song fills his ears, drowns the words in his throat. Beams of light surround him. They start to dance and spin, her image dissolving into the blue. He strains against the force pulling him skyward, desperately committing every detail of her to memory.)

She’s looking at him. A thousand goodbyes on his useless tongue. He starts to move his hands, fingers spelling her name in the language that is theirs alone.

He looks at her forever. She's the last thing he ever sees.

#zelink week 2022

4 notes · View notes

harpershigh · 1 month ago

Text

@shimmerbeasts

Jaheira leaned against Wyll, one arm draped around his shoulder as she faked a sickly stagger, her other hand clutching her side in a melodramatic show of pain. Wyll played his part well enough, as he guided her along. But she could hardly contain herself, biting down on her lip to stop the laughter bubbling up.

She threw in a raspy cough for good measure, her eyes watering — though more from stifled laughter than from her "illness". As they neared the building, she leaned in toward Wyll, barely whispering, “Don’t you dare laugh now, Ravengard.”

Because if he did, she certainly would not be able to hold her own laughter back.

The double doors groaned open, and the stale smell of decay invaded her nostrils, a memory of death too long left untouched. Inside, the House of Healing was a relic of misery — its walls, once white, now faded to a sickly gray, marred by creeping mold and dark stains that looked suspiciously like blood. The smell assaulted her in layers: rot that had settled into the wood, medicinal herbs mingling with something metallic, like old iron left out in the rain.

Each one of their steps echoed in the floor as if the building were holding its breath, waiting for them to either retreat or surrender. Jaheira stifled another cough, this one not from laughter but from the pungent stench that seemed to crawl its way to the back of her throat as they walk in. It was like even the air was trying to repel them.

It wasn't difficult for Jaheira and Wyll to find a sister. Her face was half-covered by a deteriorating mask, and the other half was exposing her pale, sallow skin stretched tight over bone. Her posture was oddly placid, holding an eerie stillness, devoid of any warmth, yet strangely urgent.

"Are you here to see the doctor? Are we poorly? Are we desperately poorly?"

Jaheira gave a dramatic gasp, clutching Wyll’s arm as if her very life depended on it. “Yes, my dear girl, we're poorly — desperately poorly!” she rasped, her voice quivering like a rickety cart wheel. She staggered a little, drawing out each word with exaggerated agony. “Oh, the pain! The suffering! It’s like I’m on death’s very doorstep, clutching his skeletal hand as he drags me toward the grave!” She clutched her chest, wheezing in the most theatrical display of ailing frailty, her eyelids fluttering with imagined weakness. “That’s why my dear grandson here has to hold me so tight... oh, yes! He fears that if I lift even a finger too high, the gods themselves will just reach down and whisk me off to the afterlife!” She threw a weak, pleading glance at the Sister, her eyes wide with wobbly desperation, as if she were just a frail breath away from slipping into the next world.

Jaheira fought back her smirk, doing her best to clutch onto Wyll as if in a spell of fever, her “cough” reverberating through the hall in hopes it masked her stifled amusement. The Sister's gaze lingered, until her lips parted in what could be said as a bewildered expression.

"You endanger the sick!"

She threw what could be a panicked look down the hall, voice dropping to a murmur.

“The doctor… he’s in the middle of a delicate procedure, and cannot be disturbed.”

The sister took a step back and clasped her hands.

“Stay here — stay right here. I’ll see what I can prepare from our stores.”

She turned her back, muttering under her breath as she browsed through a shelf, leaving Wyll and Jaheira with the brief, ominous echoes of clanks of flasks and rustle of long rotten herbs.

Jaheira’s fingers began to tingle with the faintest hum of electric energy as she prepares to Call Lighting. A glimmer of blue light flickered in her eyes, and arcs of static danced between her fingertips. She cast a sidelong glance at Wyll, smirking, her voice a low murmur.

“Wouldn’t it be a shame if there was a bit of a… disturbance here?” she mused, fingers buzzing, just waiting for his backup.

"A shame they keep their eyes covered," Jaheira remarks with a sly grin. "They'll miss out on the striking resemblance we share."

"Still, it’s an honor to pose as the matriarch of the Raveng-" Her jest is interrupted as she feels the shimmer of magic suddenly wrapping around Wyll like a cloak of energy.

The druid’s gaze snaps to the warlock, and her eyes widen as his form begins to ripple and distort, like a reflection in a disturbed pool of water. The fiendish features that once marked him fade away, the sharp angles of his face softening, horns retreating, and the dark glint in his eyes dimming.

Slowly, almost unnervingly, Wyll's demonic appearance melts into something unremarkable — a plain half-elf.

"Nice trick, cub. Very clever." Jaheira gave a nod of approval and stepped forward to steady Wyll as he adjusted to his new form. She knew well that losing something like a tail after becoming accustomed to it was no small thing. Even seasoned druids had stumbled after shifting back from a long time in their feral form, their balance thrown off by the sudden absence of limbs they had grown used to (a much more common situation than one could think).

Jaheira couldn’t help but laugh when someone called her “grandma.” She hunched over slightly, curled her spine with exaggerated effort, and extended her hand with a playful tremble. Then, as if to really sell the act, she gave a raspy cough, pretending as though she might just cough her lungs out on the spot.

Jaheira deepened her voice into an overly dramatic, elderly tone, clutching her chest for effect. "Oh, please, my dear boy... I might not have much time left..."

#[ ❧ — interactions 》 wyll ]#shimmerbeasts #I took some deviances from the game lol

5 notes · View notes

kuvvydraws · 4 years ago

Text

The real question

So, hello again darling, seems you have me in your laser sights, so I decided to give you the real question.

Let's say the skele boys have a human friend, a nice person, sweet, kind, a good listener, just a really nice person. You never seem em without long sleeves though, or a hat, and long pants. Even when its rather hot, but as they never complain and take the teasing with good grace, it doesn't alarm you.

But they have a curious habit; every time they are outside, at least semi constantly they would stare at the sky, gazing at the clouds and such. Sometimes nothing would come of it, other times, they would leave in a quick hurry.

Still that's pretty basic right? Until the first time they are out with you guys inside somewhere, and when you look to leave...its raining, not heavily, but a good rain is falling.

And they don't move. They freeze up just looking outside, and it takes a good moment to snap them out of it. They brush it off as just thinking, but you notice they always have the entrance and the rain in their field of view the entire time you guys wait for it to stop raining.

And when it does, they leave so quickly its immediately apparent something is wrong.

It really comes to a head when they are over by you, helping Ash in his garden, and over the radio, a thunderstorm warning goes out for the area.

Its the first time since the rain incident you've ever seen them so panicked..no

terrified.

Their own area is already under the thunderstorm, so all they can do is stay by the skele boys, and wait. And boy they are being weird.

Constantly checking for weather updates, checking the sky, checking, double checking and triple checking if you guys have everything in case electricity goes out, food stuff, the works.

Then the rain comes, and they go quiet. Incredibly quiet, cause its heavy, pounding rain, and wind that seems to shake the windows, and they are as silent as a grave. Some of the boys, Blue and Red, Poplar even, try to be distractions for their clearly distressed guest and friend, and it works, for a time. They start speaking, helping play some games.

Then the first flash of lightning lights the sky. It's the first time the skele's have seen it, its beautiful as it arcs through the clouds. Poplar is giving an explanation of how lightning works, the thunder that followed and the why, and everyone is listening.

Then Blue turns to talk to the friend about it....but they are gone. Or rather, not where they were before. A cursory look over the couch finds them, curled up, tight, shivering, and they flinch, genuinely flinch the moment any of them touch them.

Their eyes, when they look up, are pinpricks of terror and fear and as another flash of lightning strikes, it only gets worse.

How do the skele boys react to this sudden change, this drastic change in their friend, and how would they try to help them through whatever this is?

(Once the Thunderstorm is over, and for an hour afterwards they would be in this state, and would quietly ask to stay over for the night, refusing to leave the house, and even begging Ash and the others to not go out until tomorrow. Tears and soft begging are used.

And to think...I haven't given you the why they are petrified of thunderstorms yet. I'll save that reveal for later!)

Hope you enjoy this darling, its one of two plot bunny's that took my mind recently.

———

My! This is def one clear scenario and now I'm intrigued! How dare you leave me at the end with no closure!!! 🔪🔪🔪

I think you can separate the boys into categories (and I'm being biased absolutely here but 😈):

The sweet ones: mainly the og and swap!Sans, and I'm counting the horror brothers here as well. These guys would go for close comfort based on what they know about their friend, and it might be a bit of a mess but they're trying their hardest and it's hard, no matter how troubled they are and how bad they feel, to not notice Papyrus keeps hitting his head on the doorway, or how Poplar or Blue ramble loudly, or how Sans and Ash are sitting as close as possible to them, their bones digging on their side a solid relief.

Team Anxiety™: that would be swap! and swapfell! Papyrus and underfell!sans. Goofs to the marrow and quite useless queen it comes to using their brains during an emotional compromise, these guys are so nervous to fuck up the situation even worse they just sit by you and rattle away. They're there, ready to keep you company and refusing to leave their friend alone, even if that means their fidgeting brings them to hear a hole in their jacket or hoodie.

"I'll fistfight Zeus for you" Squad: this is swapfell!Sans and underfell!Papyrus in a nutshell. Of course they rationally know they can't just take a really big leap and help the mighty god swallow his teeth, but that's the very first thing that comes to mind. The second one is, based on their emotional constipation, to go full pragmatic –it keeps them busy, it's familiar, and they keep themselves in check about not crowding their friend with something they're not ready to share yet. Expect comfort items and food and, depending on the mood, a very warm and equally awkward pat on the back. They might get up to patrol the room from time to time, not used to the stillness and inactivity, but they keep a watchful eyelight in case their friend calls for them; they know they're not the most approachable individuals, but you'll never find anyone as serviceable and ready to assist anywhere else.

———

Hiya, @he-who-writes-pretentious-i-know! I hope you don't mind my own addition, I'm really looking forward to what you'll develop from this situation and inspiration just came 😂 👋🏻

81 notes · View notes

astalavista4u · 4 years ago

Text

In another life - Nier: Replicant

Check out this awesome fanfic my friend wrote! Honestly I loved this story so much, so I convinced them to share it with the world.

Pairing: Emil/Nier (one-sided)

A/N: in Nier:Replicant one can change the character name. In my version he is called Llys. All the events described here take place in the second part of the game.

It rained all morning. Emil looked up into the sky wondering how long will it last. Kaine was dozing off nearby, her back against stiff and wet rock. Their campfire was long gone, the remaining embers washed away by the rain. Probably they need to find a new place, dry and comfortable but for some reason Emil was reluctant to move.

He thought about his body…Will the rains turn his skeleton-like limbs all rusty and then they will slowly start falling apart? Kaine and Llys are human, rain is no threat to them…but what about him? Surely the forces of nature will try to fight this disgusting body, will try to wipe him away from Earth. The crying seagulls on their way to Seafront distracted him a bit but this pain lingered in his mind. Instinctively he hugged himself with his long skeletal arms, a protection of sort from nature…And from voices in his head so full of self-hatred.

Kaine moved anxiously in her sleep. -She did not actually sleep during the night. – he thought. – So I won’t disturb her now…Maybe she is dreaming of something nice this time.

Should the likes of me even dream?

His eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of a silhouette approaching from the north-east of the plains – white messy hair, slim and tall figure, a giant broadsword behind his back. Emil thanked the gods again for letting him see all this without hurting anyone. Probably the only thing he really was thankful for.

The white circles he had for eyes were lifeless but in truth his real eyes devoured every last part of the figure trying to memorize every little detail: the length of his boots, his walking manner, every feature of his almost perfect face which was now visible from where he sat. Each time he saw Llys he drowned in that grey and blue eyes of his, confident and cold but somehow at the same time kind and understanding. Each time he saw Llys he brought up memories of how he lost his human body and how he felt and how Llys never rejected him but greeted him instead with calming words and opened arms.

I will never abandon you.

Do you really think that he cares about you?

He keeps you by his side because he thinks you are useful.

For now.

YOU’RE WRONG! – with this last cry the other whispering voices slowly retreated to the darkest places of his mind only to appear again later.

Emil gathered himself quickly and floated towards Llys. After all Kaine was still sleeping…Let her rest just a bit longer.

- Llys! – he said, voice as cheerful as always. – What’s up? How was that business of yours at Seafront?

- Fine, I guess. – Llys looked tired and wary after the journey. Exhausted, even. – The package was hard to deliver but the client paid handsomely. -Let it be the last time when we fulfill such foolish requests. – Grimmoire Weiss materialized behind Llys.

- Don’t push yourself too hard, please. – Emil placed his hand on Llys’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. The sensation was very nice, it sent electric impulses up to his spine. Emil suddenly imagined himself like a real human, a version of himself but five years older. Back then during their first encounter Kaine told him that he was a “cute little thing”, so probably after five years this cuteness will remain? Maybe Llys will also call him cute. He imagined a real hand touching the shoulder of his dear friend, a hand of flesh and blood. He imagined his own lilac eyes looking at Llys with warmth and care and not these horrible empty sockets. His own lips smiling cheerfully not this terrifying mouth twisted with everlasting monstrosity which no one ever will call a smile.

You are disgusting…

He is disgusted by your touch, can’t you see?

This sudden outburst of his imagination only lasted for a moment but with these thoughts Emil’s hand hastily left Llys’s side. Emil looked away ashamed of his actions. – You stupid piece of junk, you should have asked if he was okay with the touch, he probably felt…

- Emil, is everything okay? – Emil felt two strong hands grabbing his skeleton shoulders and felt Llys’s gaze on his face.

- Ha..ha-hah, y-yeah, sure! Why do you ask? – even if his face wasn’t capable of showing any emotion his voice still betrayed him.

- Are you sure? – Emil turned to face Llys only to find him several centimeters away. If he had a real body his cheeks would probably blush…

- Y-yeah, of course I’m sure…Just feeling a bit lonely, you know. Kaine is sleeping, didn’t get much sleep during the night and you were at Seafront, so…

- Emil…- Weiss stopped unable to find the right words.

Llys glanced quickly at their camping place – remnants of the fire, Kaine lying on hard wet rock, her swords and Emil’s scepter covered carefully by a piece of cloth. Something dire ran across his beautiful face…something like rage. Emil has already prepared himself for this talk they had had several times before: - No, Llys, everything is fine, really…We are used to sleeping outside. We feel perfectly comfortable and we don’t need anything, so don’t worry about us.

And then Llys leaned closer and hugged him. He pressed Emil’s head to his chest whispering: I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…Somehow among the countless rain droplets bombarding his head he made out one that was entirely different. And then another. And another. Hot tears poured from Llys’s eyes, small droplets traveling down to where Emil’s eyes and nose should be. All Emil could do was just to hug him back and try to wave away the thought of how he would like to sense the taste of these tears on his own lips.

He never realized that his and Kaine’s sleeping place was such a miserable sight. Never put much thought into it. His well-being never was much of a concern. Yet here he was, his dearest friend crying about his fate.

- Please, moment, never go away…Let me stand here hugging my friend for an eternity. Let the worlds collapse around us, just please don’t let go

Of course he knew the absurdity of this thought and he cursed himself for it. No happy life was possible without Kaine, without Weiss, without Yonah who is still out there, probably in grave danger. And yet…Please let me be selfish just once…

***

Sometime after the events in Façade

Kaine tossed some paper into their campfire. Emil cuddled near it watching the chaotic dance of flames.

- Kaine…I wanted to ask you something.

- Well, go ahead. – She leaned against the rock throwing the remaining paper into the fire. – What is it, Emil?

- Well, it’s about the king’s wedding…Or more about what I’ve said on that wedding.

- So? – Kaine raised an eyebrow. – What is it you said?

Emil would have licked his lips if he had those before starting this awkward conversation.

- Well…Just before the tragedy I spoke with Llys. I told him how I envied Fyra, how I wanted to be Fyra on this wedding. He told me that one day I will find a wonderful bride. But…

- It wasn’t the case, was it? – she asked.

Emil gasped. – W-wait! How did you even…

- I’m not fucking blind, you know. – she plainly looked at him, her gaze didn’t show any judgement, maybe a bit of concern.

- It’s just…I…Is something wrong with me? I really felt that way…I wanted to be on Fyra’s place and I would never say that to him of course, but I wanted Llys to be on king’s place.

Kaine kept silent, though somehow her gaze seemed encouraging. She wanted him to keep talking.

- I just…I imagined this ceremony…I, meaning my true self, will wear a white suit holding a great bouquet of lunar tears and Llys, he will be dressed in black and grey cause I think these colors look great on him. Everyone will be singing and dancing, eating tasty food, tossing flower petals over their heads. And…and you will be there too, Kaine. Cheering and laughing with others! No, don’t give me that look! I know that you will join us this time.

His imagination flowed onwards and onwards but he was so overwhelmed with these thoughts and ideas that he never wanted to stop. And Kaine didn’t seem to bother.

- Weiss will probably grumble again but he will end up sharing jokes with guests. Yonah will be there too, she will cook one of her special dishes! And Devola and Popola! I’ve heard that they have angelic voices and their singing is magnificent…And me and Llys, we will cheer with you. He will take my hand and lead me onwards…We will stand in front of everyone and someone will say: Now, you can seal your marriage with a kiss! And Llys he will…he will kiss me and then I…

His speech ended abruptly as his eyes accidentally caught a glimpse of a skeleton hand. He stared at it stupidly as if it wasn’t his, waiting for a real hand of flesh and bone to replace this monstrous limb. Realization stroke him like a lightning bolt. How could you forget something like this?

- No…No, what am I saying…O God…I am so sorry, I never really meant any of this, please don’t take it seriously. Just please, forget it, Kaine!

His body started to shake, he felt like he will burst into tears. But they never came. Another reminder to toss away these stupid dreams…He sobbed. Long skeleton limbs gathered around to protect him from the outside world. Only to be stopped by firm grip on his arm.

- Quit your whining, goddammit! – Kaine rarely raised her voice at him before. But now she was furious, flickers of red in her eyes. In a one harsh movement she pulled him up and looked directly at his face. There was no chance for Emil to avoid those eyes now. – Listen to me, Emil. And listen carefully. I don’t give a fuck about this romantic fluffy stuff you were babbling about. But here is what I know: if you love someone than fucking go for it, no whirling around. Trust me, we don’t have time for this bullshit.

- I know why you hesitate – “look at my body, I am so disgusting, I am a monster, no one will ever love me”. I am a monster too, Emil. And yet I had grandma who cared about me, protected me from those fuckers in the Aerie, who loved me. And then I found Llys. You found Llys. Did he treat you like you were a freak back then when you still haven’t lost your human form?

- N-no. – Emil managed to answer between his quiet sobs. – He was gentle, kind to me even if I was a total stranger.

- Did his attitude change when you transformed?

- No, no…When I realized that I had changed I started to cry. I hated myself so much…But still he hugged me. Told me that we will figure something out.

- That’s what I’m talking about. Our small group is a motherfucking freak show – stupid floating book, skeleton boy, possessed bitch. And yet he took us all in, accepted our sins and our souls. Don’t doubt him, Emil. He won’t abandon you.

- What I am trying to say is that you shoudn’t think for Llys. He has his own head on his shoulders and if you ever come up with confession he will answer without hurting your feelings. And well, if he won’t I’ll shove the stick right up his ass!

- Kaine! Don’t say things like that!

- Shut up and let me finish my thought. – Kaine let him go and Emil slowly retreated to his seat still sobbing. – I don’t know if the answer will be yes or no. What I DO know is that you, Emil, deserve love. Yes, you look like a skeleton but you are the kindest, the gentlest creature on this goddamn earth. You saved everyone in that village, you sacrificed your body to get me back. Such souls are so hard to find… like lunar tears. You. Deserve. Love. Never even try to tell me otherwise!

She breathed in heavily, tired from this improvised speech. Silence fell over their camp disturbed only by cracking of fire. Emil’s sobs died with Kaine’s words.

- The only thing to do is to tell him about your feelings. The sooner the better.

- I know that we don’t have much time. But the only thing Llys thinks of now is Yonah. And I…I don’t want to disturb his grief and add even more problems.

His voice still trembled from the crying but with each phrase spoken he seemed to become more confident.

- We all need to focus on Yonah’s rescue, so I’ll probably save my…my confession for later. I will tell him everything after we return from the Shadowlord’s castle.

***

That night Emil dreamt. He saw a mansion as big as the one where he had been locked up for his entire life but this one wasn’t so ominous. Sunrays knocked at the windows, green moss crawled up the walls, the front doors were wide open welcoming every traveler inside. Birds sang their praises to the sun hidden behind the branches of gigantic oak, a wild boar tamed by Llys rolled in circles on the grass. The waters of the nearby lake glistened invitingly, one gaze just enough to go swimming. Though Llys probably spent all his time fishing. Behind the mansion he saw a small garden with long rows of vegetables and entire flowerbeds vibrant with lunar tears. Wow, Llys has finally found a way to grow them…

On the second floor there was a library: books gathered from Seafront and Façade and from Llys’s village, books on languages long forgotten, scientific reports, treasure maps, musical scores…Everything was there for him to dig in, to reveal all the secrets the history of humanity has to offer. He heard the sounds of music from the first floor – someone was playing the piano and two angelic voices followed the tune. Popola entered the song after Devola and their voices intertwined beautifully when they reached the refrain.

Kaine was there, sitting casually on a chair, her terrifying blades nowhere to be seen. Yonah, her arms crossed on the chest, stood near Kaine, completely devoured by the song. Grimoire Weiss floated nearby trying to follow the rhythm. The young king of Façade and his wife Fyra were dancing gracefully in the center of the room and another pair of more clumsy dancers whirled around them – they both had red bags fastened on their shoulders.

Only then Emil turned his gaze to the piano. And stunned. An older version of himself, no more than nineteen years old, was playing the piano, his lilac eyes serious and focused, movements of his fingers precise and quick. He was not alone…Another pair of hands joined him, clumsily pressing on piano keys.

Llys was there…By his side.

When the song finally came to the end the dancers stopped catching their breaths. The red bag couple immediately started their usual argument – who stepped on whose foot and who was the first to lose rhythm during the dance. The king shouted praises to musicians, his wife nodding fiercely.

Kaine shrugged but he caught a glimpse of smile on her always emotionless face. Yonah clapped so hard that Weiss started to accuse her of creating additional vibrations making his floating more difficult. The twins laughed cheerfully at his grumbling.

Emil’s heart almost stopped when he looked again at the pair at the piano. Llys placed his hands around the waist of his older version, he saw himself blushing vividly at the touch. While everyone else was talking, clapping and laughing, Llys’s head rested on his shoulder, nose poking at the curve of his neck. With one lazy movement Llys cupped his blushing cheek and turned Emil, so he could see his face. There was a question on his lips, something unimportant, stupid even but it all died immediately when Llys covered Emil’s lips with his. Emil stumbled just for a second but then his lilac eyes closed and he eagerly returned the kiss placing his hands in a soft white mess of Llys’s hair.

- I want to stay here forever

***

In the Shadowlord’s castle

- Emil, no!

- Get back here! EMIL!

He could perfectly hear their shouts from here. His small sphere floated back dragged by Popola’s magic. There isn’t much time. The sphere containing his friends successfully reached the other side of the broken bridge and he sighed in relief casting a dispel.

They’ve made it. Good. They still have a chance to defeat the Shadowlord.

…

You are such a coward.

I didn’t have the strength to confess. I failed.

You lost your chance. I’m sorry.

…

The black void devoured him completely. Small cracks started to appear on the light-blue surface of the sphere looking like spider webs. Beautiful.

Llys…I…

I love you

I want to see you again.

I want to see all of you again.

I don’t want to die.

There is so much I wanted to tell you, Llys

Perhaps, in another life.

The sphere crushed under the pressure of the void. It continued to collapse until it reached the size of an apple. As hungrily and fiercely the void devoured everything on its way before as calmly and peacefully it turned into golden ashes carried away by the winds.

Emil’s scepter fell on the ground with an ominous ringing.

In another life.

#nier replicant #nier remaster #emil #emil nier #nier game #nier emil #nier spoilers #nier series

21 notes · View notes

lovelikedestiny · 4 years ago

Text

Hold me when I shatter

With cold brutality and fierce determination, the scalpel cuts through his skin, severing muscles and tendons, digging mercilessly into his flesh until it hits bones and Joe wants to scream, but no sound comes out of his mouth. Out of his mouth, which opens in an excruciating, silent cry that no one can hear. Burning fire flows through his veins, setting his body in all-consuming flames that cannot be extinguished by any water in the world.

Blood splatters, hot and red, the metallic smell impregnates the air and lets Joe suffocate, suffocate, suffocate. He cannot move, is trapped in his own body, which is now his grave: doomed for all eternity to die and come back to life to more horrific research...torture methods, never being able to find longed for peace. Nicky...Nicolo...Where's Nicolo? This question splits his mind like a scorching lightning bolt, sends electric shocks through his limbs and Joe is filled with panic that rises over him like a wave and crashes down on him with full force. He is whirled around by disgusting noises as the faceless doctor operates a bone saw. The electrical hum is replaced by the splintering sound of breaking ribs and the pain becomes overwhelming. Joe doesn't know what kind of noise is coming from his mouth, but he doesn't recognize his own voice in the suffering howl, the whimpering. It feels wrong, everything is wrong and artificial and dead. Dead like rotten wood, rotting meat that is being decomposed by maggots, rotten and withered. Nothing is immune to time, but now it is turning against them. How long must they endure this torment? Is there an escape from this cruel cycle of never-ending life? Where's Nicolo? P-Please. Despite the pain that showers down on him like caustic rain, eating its way through each of his cells and leaving behind chaos, which his body wants to repair, but cannot, because the saw cuts, cuts, cuts, his whole being is focused on Nicky. Where is his moon? The light that guides him? His safe haven? He doesn't know and that's even worse than the sight of his open rib cage, which he catches for seconds before black dots dance in his field of vision and pull him down. Lower and lower until nothing exists but darkness and his fear, his pain, his agony. Blood fills his lungs steadily like a rushing brook and finally Joe can scream, expressing the unspeakable pain as he gurgles and drowns in his own blood. Will this be their future? Doomed to drown like Quynh in her iron cage in the ocean, to taste their own blood instead of the salty water until they get used to breathing liquid metal and living red salt. “Yusuf,” the faceless doctor says, standing threatening over him, the saw in her hand still for a tiny moment. His full name is like a whiplash, snatches the little bit of himself from him that is left to him and he wants to lash out and roar how she knows his name. That she can't use his name. "Yusuf!" His blood is dripping from the saw and the doctor is faceless and cold, for her he is just an object and that for a long time. "-suf! Yusuf, habibi, wake up!” A choked scream breaks out of his narrow throat and at first, he wants to defend himself against the hands that reach for him, but his body is faster than his mind, recognizes the familiar touch and gives up any resistance while Joe still has to find his way back to reality. He has a metallic taste in his mouth, frantically feels his upper body with trembling hands, looking for wounds that have long been healed, for cuts by scalpels and needles, saws and other instruments, each more cruel than the other. Though immortal, his body has a memory too, echoes of excruciating pain make him tense, Nicky's painful screams in his ear. His eyes sting, streams of hot tears pour down his cheeks. “Joe, you are safe. You are fine, we are fine. I have you, tesoro. I've got you.” The gentle words slowly penetrate him, the Italian accent wraps itself around his heart like soothing balm and Joe suddenly loses all strength. He collapses in himself, finds comfort in the warmth of the chest at which he is pressed. A sobbing whimper cuts through the surrounding darkness like a knife and Joe only notices that the noise is coming from his throat when Nicky begins to rock him gently in his arms and hums an old melody that Joe still likes to hear. “Nobody will hurt you here, Yusuf. I promise." Like a drowning man for whom Nicky's arms are a saving wooden plank, he clings to his lover so tightly that marks would have appeared on his fair skin if immortality hadn't washed away all injuries. He continues to hear the horrific noises of the cutting saw, the dripping of blood that doesn't stop, but he trusts Nicky with his life and more, so his mind is gradually breaking away from the nightmare. "We're in Malta, Joe," Nicky continues, as if he wanted to calm a frightened child or animal and when Joe thinks that they were nothing more than guinea pigs for the doctor in the lab, his breath catches in his throat. Nicky feels his tension and holds him tighter, holds Joe together as he threatens to fall apart and does not allow the nightmare to pull him back into a world full of pain and agony. “We are in Malta and we ate apricots and pomegranates and dates and figs yesterday. You took my hand and laughed at how sticky it was and when we kissed, I could taste the sweet juice of the fruit, the sun and the salt of the sea on your lips.” Malta. Their place of retreat, their shelter, when everything around them threatens to be washed away in the rain. A few years ago, Joe painted the railing of their little terrace blue in an attempt to capture Nicky's eye color, but he can never get Nicky on canvas the way he deserves. He remembers that Nicky then painted yellow flowers on the blue, his tongue tucked concentrated between his teeth, and the beaming smile when Nicky turned to him after finishing his task. Nicky's open smile is what Joe now clings to because that smile is only meant for him. "You had charcoal on your cheek from sketching yesterday and I removed it with my thumb." Nicky presses his lips to Joe's forehead; his arms wrap around him securely and strong. The faded fabric of Nicky's sleep shirt under Joe's cheek is wonderfully soft and he buries his nose in it, inhales the warm, familiar smell of Nicky, but doesn't dare let go of him. “I made chicken with orange sauce while you read me the Iliad. After dinner we danced in the kitchen and you said you'd bring the stars and the moon out of the sky if you could, so that my eyes would be the only thing that would light up the night.” From Joe's position he cannot see Nicky's face, but he hears the slight amusement in his voice, as well as the overwhelming affection. "And I said that it would be pretty cruel for the rest of the world because my eyes shine only for you." Joe's panicked gasp turns into frantic breathing as last night takes shape in his head: Nicky's wiry, slender figure in his arms, the irrepressible warmth in his heart as the gaze of the bright eyes was fixed on him, a kiss sweet and mild as the orange sauce that became intense and endless and moved Joe to the depths of his bones. "Are you with me?" Nicky asks in a whisper, but makes no move to release Joe from his arms, although his grip is loose and not crushing. And Joe is so immensely grateful to him that he lets Joe decide for himself whether he wants to break away from Nicky or stay pressed against him. It takes a few long seconds before Joe is sure he can answer and all he gets out of his mouth is a gasping, barely audible: "Always." Nicky makes a soft sound as a sign that he heard him. "Should I turn on the light, my heart?" "No!" Joe rasps out, wanting to stay well hidden in the dark, hidden from the cold, unnatural light of the laboratory. "No! No light! No...no light." Nicky doesn't ask him what he's been dreaming about because he knows. He waits with the greatest patience for Joe to act of his own accord or to speak while he caresses his back, presses his nose into Joe's dark curls and Joe notices how the traces of the nightmare evaporate. Only when Joe no longer has the feeling of shattering into a thousand pieces when he lets go of his only anchor does he break away from Nicky. He seeks his gaze, despite the fact that his face must look terrible from crying and his hands, which reach for Nicky, are still shaking. Nicky's fingers, slender and sinewy, perfectly made for bows and sniper rifles, wrap tightly and securely around his, exerting a comfortable, grounding pressure. The Italian's eyes seem to glow, bright and warm, in the silvery moonlight falling through a gap between the curtains, although one could expect the color of his eyes would make his gaze feel cold. "I ..." He starts, suddenly not knowing what he wants to say. The words are too heavy for his tongue and he fears that he will suffocate on them. "Nicky, I...it...” "Don't," Nicky interrupts whispering the sentence, which Joe doesn't even know how to end. “Don't apologize for healing, Joe. Never for it and not for less." He lifts Joe's right hand, turns it and kisses the bared palm, then every fingertip. The touch of his lips is just gossamer like the flap of a butterfly's wings and Joe wants, needs more.

Continue reading on AO3 ;)

#the old guard #fanfic #ao3 #Yusuf al-Kaysani #Nicolo di Genova #healing time in Malta #hurt/comfort #hold me when I shatter

20 notes · View notes