#it swept something in me / something ancient and full of light.

[swordheld]

from the introduction to "the sovereign sun" selected poems by odysseus elytis, trans. and introduction by kimon friar. [id in alt text]

[moonlitstoriess]

Across the Universe-ch.8 (Fenrys x Reader)

Summary: Y/n has everything she needs in life. A family, friends, a safe place she calls home and most importantly a male whom she loves. What happens when it all changes when Y/n finds out about the betrayal of her lover and her so called family? Well, ending up in Terrasen and in queen Aelin's court was not what she expected but what she will need to start her new journey full of surprises.

Warning: Slight depiction of violence

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There was the moon, casting a silvery trail across the dark waters of the shore where y/n stood. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the rocks filled the air, a soothing lullaby that mingled with the gentle breeze brushing through her hair.

She gazed up at the luminous orb hanging high in the night sky, its glow casting ethereal shadows across the sands. The shore stretched out before her, a tranquil expanse where the land met the sea in an eternal dance of tide and time. 

With each step, y/n felt the cool sand shift beneath her feet, grounding her in the present moment. The moonlight painted everything in shades of silver and grey, turning ordinary rocks and shells into shimmering treasures along the shoreline.

Then, she felt a presence right next to her on the shore, watching the waters dance under the moon. Y/n turned, startled, to see a figure cloaked in shadows, their presence imposing yet strangely comforting. As the figure stepped closer, the moonlight revealed a woman with piercing eyes and a knowing smile, displaying a set of iron teeth.

"I see you've found solace in the night, young one," the woman said, her voice a melodic whisper that carried an air of ancient wisdom.

Y/N hesitated, sensing something both familiar and unnerving about the woman's presence. "Who are you?" she asked cautiously, her curiosity tinged with apprehension.

"I am Elara," the woman replied, her voice carrying the soft lilt of someone who had seen ages pass. Her eyes, luminous in the moonlight, seemed to hold secrets of centuries past.

Y/N's curiosity piqued further. "Elara," she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. "Where are we, Elara?"

Elara turned her gaze towards the endless expanse of the sea, her expression thoughtful as moonlight played upon her features. "The tides of magic ebb and flow," she murmured, choosing to ignore y/n's question, her voice carrying a melody of secrets. "They bring me where the currents converge."

"You are drawn to magic, then?" Y/N ventured cautiously, choosing her words with care.

Elara's eyes sparkled with a knowing light, acknowledging the unspoken question. "Magic is a tapestry woven with many threads," she replied, her voice resonating with ancient wisdom. "Some threads are visible to those who seek them."

Y/N listened intently, sensing there was more to Elara's words than met the eye. "What are in my threads?" she asked softly, more to herself, than to the woman beside her.

Elara smiled gently, her expression serene yet filled with depth. "Your threads are intertwined with the fabric of worlds," she began cryptically, her voice carrying a melody of secrets. "You carry the essence of the Ironteeth within you—a lineage that spans beyond this realm."

Y/N blinked in surprise, her mind racing to grasp the implications of Elara's revelation. "Ironteeth?" she repeated, the word unfamiliar yet stirring something deep within her.

Elara nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Blue blood runs through your veins, child," she continued, her words carrying a weight of significance. "But it is not a curse—it is a gift, a mark of your lineage and the connection you hold between worlds."

Y/N felt a mix of confusion and wonderment. "I don't understand," she admitted quietly, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Elara placed a comforting hand on y/n's shoulder, her touch grounding and reassuring. "You are special, y/n," she murmured, her voice a gentle breeze that swept away the shadows of doubt. "Your path is woven with purpose, threads that bind you to destinies yet to unfold."

"You are wrong. My parents... I never knew who they were, but it is impossible. They couldn't have been witches," y/n interjected, her voice tinged with disbelief. She stared at Elara, struggling to reconcile the revelation with what little she knew of her own origins.

Elara regarded y/n with a patient understanding, her gaze steady and unwavering. "Not all magic is inherited through direct lineage," she explained gently, her words carrying a weight of ancient knowledge. "Love transcends worlds, y/n. It weaves its own threads through the tapestry of existence."

Y/N frowned, her mind racing as she tried to piece together Elara's cryptic words. "Are you saying... my parents were from different worlds?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Embrace your heritage," she advised gently. "Let the love that brought you being guide your steps, and trust in the magic that flows through your veins."

Y/n sighed and looked towards the waters once again "I don't understand...I don- What....no. Impossible."

"Find Manon. Let her know. And find me again when you are ready."

Y/n quickly turned around "What are you say-"

But her words were quickly cut off as she realized the woman had disappeared. The shore was empty now, save for the gentle lapping of waves against the rocks and the whisper of the wind through the night. 

She took a step forward, scanning the moonlit expanse for any sign of Elara, but there was no trace of the enigmatic woman who had appeared with cryptic wisdom and vanished just as mysteriously.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her mind racing with unanswered questions and the weight of Elara's revelations settling upon her shoulders. The realization that her journey was intricately tied to secrets beyond her comprehension left her both unsettled and strangely determined.

One second she was on that shore, the next she was back in the crystal caverns, on her knees before a mirror that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly glow. The transition was disorienting, leaving y/n momentarily breathless as she took in her surroundings.

The caverns around her were filled with the soft hum of magical energy, crystals of various sizes and colors pulsing with a gentle light. The mirror before her reflected not just her physical form, but seemed to hold a depth that hinted at secrets and possibilities beyond.

Y/n reached out tentatively, her fingers grazing the cool surface of the mirror. It was smooth and unyielding, yet she sensed an almost imperceptible vibration beneath her touch—a sensation that whispered of connections waiting to be discovered.

Her mind raced with questions, the memory of Elara's words echoing in her thoughts. Seems like this mirror created an illusion around her. Not like the Ouroboros back in Prythian then. But...how did it connect to the enigmatic woman who had appeared and vanished with cryptic wisdom?

So many questions. Not enough answers.

A witch? How is that possible. Her whole life she and everyone who was unlucky enough to witness her blue blood thought of it as a curse. A deformity.

How in the seven hells is she an Ironteeth Witch? Was her mother a witch?

She hid this secret so well. Not even Azriel, let alone anyone else found out about it. So why now?

Whatever. This was a complete waste of time. She would never let anyone in on her secret and Manon won't know anything.

With that final thought, she got up and left the caverns, promising to herself never to come back here again.

"Y/n?....Y/n!"

Y/n came back to reality, her senses snapping back into focus as the familiar voice called her name. Blinking rapidly, she shook off the remnants of the mirror's illusion and turned towards the source of the voice.

Manon was standing right next to her, still holding her palm up. In a sudden fit of anger, y/n snatched her hand away from the silver haired witch and turned around, making her way into the palace.

"How long have you known? Kept this secret?"

That made her pause. She slowly turned around to see Manon standing in front of Abraxos with arms crossed and an unreadable expression on her face.

Y/n replied coldly "My whole life. The blue blood part not the whole Ironteeth witch part. And I would suggest you keep this a secret as well because if you don't then I won't be responsible for what happens to you next."

Manon's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, her voice laced with a taunting edge. "You are an Ironteeth Witch. You are one of my own," she declared, her words hanging heavy in the air.

Y/n also approached her "I am not one of you. I am not even from your world. You may be the Queen of Witches but you aren't my queen."

They stood chest to chest now, the air thick with tension as they locked eyes, each refusing to yield in their stance. Manon's expression was unreadable, a mask of regal composure overlying whatever emotions churned beneath. Y/n's jaw was set, her stance reflecting both defiance and a hint of vulnerability.

Manon tilted her head slightly, studying y/n with a calculating gaze. "You're different," she acknowledged quietly, her voice carrying a note of curiosity. "But that doesn't change the truth of what you are."

Y/n's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. "I don't owe you any explanations," she retorted, her voice firm. "My heritage is my own."

Manon's lips quirked in a semblance of a smile, though there was no warmth in it. "True," she conceded, her tone sharp and probing. "But secrets have a way of surfacing, especially when power is at stake."

Y/n bristled at the implication, her resolve hardening. "I won't be manipulated," she stated defiantly, her voice carrying an edge of warning.

"You are refusing your own destiny."

Y/n gave a firm look at the queen in front of her "This is not a destiny, it is a curse. My world never had any witches or Ironteeth whatever and frankly, I never knew anything about this until I ended up here."

Manon's gaze did not waver "You are a coward then."

She was in shock. Absolute shock. Does this witch think that just because she is a queen y/n would bow to her? Declare her undying loyalty to her? She had already done that once with Rhys and Feyre, safe to say, it did not end well.

Y/n snarled as she stood face to face with her "You have no idea of what I went through in my life. This blue blood nonsense made it even worse. Where were you or the other witches when I was being laughed at, avoided, tortured, insulted and beaten for it? That's right, fucking nowhere. This is a curse and I am not about to reveal it. I am not a coward for hiding something that brings only misery to me. Queen of Witches or not, you do not hold any sway over me so do me a favor and shut your mouth about this whole thing." With that, she turned around on her heels and took quick strides towards the palace.

But she still heard Manon's voice over the distance saying, "Come find me when you are not running away from your destiny."

Come find me. Come find me. Seems like both Elara and Manon enjoy pissing her off, thinking they know her better than herself.

She did not go to dinner. In fact, she had no idea where she was going, but she was going somewhere. Preferably, far away from everyone.

After who knows how many turns and dead ends, she found herself in front of another set of double doors at the end of the hall.

Without even thinking, she just entered only to be surprised when she saw Yrene, on the floor with papers, quills and books all around her, the main book being on her lap.

Y/n hesitated, not wanting to startle her, but Yrene looked up with a warm smile.

"Y/n! don't just stand there, come and sit." the healer said, pointing to a small lounge chair in the corner of the room.

She smirked while walking towards the chair "I thought you didn't want anyone disturbing you. Except your husband, of course."

Yrene slightly shook her head with a small smile "He just wouldn't listen to me when I said that he needs rest, that Aelin has servants coming and going to this room with meals and everything I may need. He is a stubborn brute! staying by my side constantly, helping me analyze and decipher. And now look at him...I finally managed to get him to rest. Though, I admit I had to use some help from Rowan."

Y/n giggled before a questioning look overtook her face, "I saw him limping earlier. But when you two first came, he walked just fine. What kind of an accident caused that condition, if I may ask?"

The healer's expression turned downcast as she began sorting through some of the papers on the ground. "Well...when Chaol and Nesryn--the future empress of the Southern Continent--came to Antica, he was in a wheelchair. Just...long story short the King of Adarlan had used his magic to break him."

At y/n's shocked expression, Yrene just gave a sad smile and continued, "Yes. I, as a healer of Torre Cesme, an academy that houses and trains gifted healers, was appointed to heal his legs."

She sighed as she looked towards the large windows behind y/n, her gaze unfocused, seemingly lost in her memories. "We hated each other at first due to our diferring beliefs on each other but, we eventually started being civil with one another. And the whole Valg thing just brought us closer. Which eventually resulted in him being able to walk again."

"Wait. What Valg thing?"

"Well, one of the Khagan's children, his pregnant daughter got infested with a valg that caused her to murder her younger sister and then try to murder me. It took us some time, but we eventually found out it was her and then when we fought her, she landed a hard blow on Chaol. He was going to die and with him, my soul would have died as well."

Y/n was just staring with wide eyes at the curly haired woman in front of her, urging her to continue "But, the other healers joined together and helped me heal him. Though there was a price for it and I payed it without thinking, without any regrets. Our lives were joined forever. He would walk, but if I used too much magic or exerted myself, he would need a cane or his wheelchair. Vise versa if he exerts too much energy, I will feel weak, nauseous and so on. Us being bonded in every sense also meant that once one of us dies first, the other also dies. We go at the same time."

Now this was something y/n had never heard of before. She knew how her High Lord and Lady also had joined their lives together. If there were any doubts about that actually being true, they were cleared when the whole fiasco during Nyxs' birth happened. But what y/n never heard of was how the actions of one would affect the other in such a bond.

She cleared her throat, still processing the information "That sounds romantic....in a way."

Yrene let out a small, lighthearted, laugh at that "Perhaps. I am glad to wake up everyday knowing that we survived it all and have a small family of our own now."

"You do?"

"Yes! Our son, Ares is only three, but he already is showing interest in weaponry. I try to keep them out of his way because it is so dangerous and Chaol is not the most organized person but...he somehow manages to find them. It is also not helping that his uncle Dorian keeps buying him wooden swords, bows, arrows and whatever else Ares wants. Such a spoiled kid."

She could see the fond smile on Yrene's face as she began once again, flipping through stacks of papers.

How does it feel to have a family of your own? A husband and kids...once upon a time y/n would've entertained that idea but no more.

"You miss your son."

The healer sighed "Of course, but atleast Dorian and the nannies are keeping him some company. And by some I mean a lot. Dorian refuses to let the kid breathe! He is too protective, acting like a mother hen at all times."

At that, they both looked at each other with amusement before letting out loud laughs that echoed throughout the room.

When their laughter died down, Yrene quietly asked y/n, "Well, I told you something about my life, now it is your turn to tell me something about your life in your world. How is that place?"

Y/n chuckled "Wait a minute. Why are we talking about me all of a sudden?"

Yrene just shrugged her shoulders with a small smile, still not looking at her "Well, I thought you could stop me from dozing off while trying to work out this book. So...please? Tell me something. Keep me company. I am quite curious, you know."

"Very well then. Hmmmm....my life back at home was very fun. Each day would be filled with different things to do. My High Lord, Rhysand, treated us, the inner circle as his family rather than his subjects. He became even better, less stressed, less frustrated when he met his mate and they later on had a son. I would spend my free days going to my favorite cafe's in Velaris, shopping with Mor, reading with Nesta, sometimes joining Feyre in her art studio, cooking with Elain, doing absolutely nothing with Amren-"

At that, she let out a small chuckle, remembering her tiny friend. "You know, you would fit right in the Dawn court. They have the best healers my world-Prythian-has to offer. And that whole place is absolutely beautiful and so peaceful. In fact, out of all the courts, I think I like Dawn the best."

Yrene looked up from the book at y/n with a curious glance "How many courts are there?"

"Six. Dawn which is the best, Day which is the most...unusual, Winter which is always cold, Spring which I hate because of its annoying, pain in the ass of a High Lord, Night from which I am from, and Autumn which is actually the worst."

"Oh wow. Your world seems so unique. I would love to explore all those courts."

"Yeah well, Dawn would probably be the best and only one you need to see because I don't think Chaol would be happy with you being in Day after seeing Helion and his...beyond appropriate comments and parties. Spring court is literally deserted, it's a long story so don't ask about it now, and would not recommend going there if you are allergic. Autumn court won't probably let you in because it has an egotistical, ancient hag for a high lord. Winter is nice but considering how you come from a warmer place, I don't think you will stay there for more than an hour. Night court is only nice when you are in Velaris and not in the Court of Nightmares."

Yrene once again had a questioning face and so it went on for another hour as they conversed about each other's lives and got to know one another more. Of course, they both still kept many things hidden from one another but y/n was glad they at least could share some of the happy memories.

When y/n left the healers room to go to her own, it was well near midnight but her veins thrummed with energy as she felt this strange feeling of content wash over her. Out of everyone here so far, she felt like Yrene was the one with whom she felt safest and most relaxed. It was good to talk to someone so freely after such a long time.

Fenrys stared at the papers in front of him. Being the Ambassador of Terrasen meant you got hundreds of official visits, check ups and whatever else to sign and read through. It was well beyond midnight but he couldn't sleep either so getting holed up in his study room is not something to complain about.

His mind also drifted of to a certain winged female who was starting to interest him more and more....unfortunately. For some reason, earlier today when she gave him a glimpse into her life it made him feel happy. Worthy of hearing something private. Of course his happiness was soon replaced with anger and another ugly feeling when he heard the name of that male...Azriel.

Was he handsome? Was he a good warrior? How old was he? He bet that he could destroy this Azriel in a matter of minutes if they ever came face to face.

Why was he even stuck on this? What y/n does with her private life shouldn't interest him. Although he can't deny the relief he felt when she told him they weren't mates. Honestly Fenrys, get yourself together.

But no matter what, he hates Azriel. Especially after y/n explained some of the things he did. What a spineless coward, that one. And once he saw her holding back tears, on the verge of a breakdown, there was nothing else at that moment that Fenrys wanted more than to crush Azriel's skull with his bare hands.

He waited for her at dinner but she didn't come. When Manon entered the room, her expression was indifferent as usual but her movements were somewhat stiffer. And when he asked her about y/n, she just gave him a short, cold reply "I don't know."

Something was wrong. He could feel it. But, Fenrys also valued his life enough to know not to provoke the witch beside him. He would just have to ask y/n tomorrow.

A knock on the door brought him back from his thoughts as Fenrys muttered a quiet yet audible "Enter."

Lorcan entered with a small smirk, going straight to the brown leather couch in the left side of the room, "I knew you would be awake."

Fenrys rubbed his face with his hand "And why are you awake? Shouldn't you be with your wife?"

The taller man just stared at the ceiling and yawned "Couldn't sleep. Knew that you barely sleep these days so decided to come keep you company."

Fenrys sighed but got up and went towards the shelf containing various forms of drinks. He took a good old aged whisky and poured it into two glasses before going towards Lorcan.

As he got gloser, Fenrys physically gagged "You smell of sex. Couldn't even bother washing up before coming here and sitting your ass down on my couch?"

Lorcan simply smirked, taking the glass from the males hand "Too tired for that. Don't be mad at me just because you are not having any fun these days."

Fenrys took a sip from his whiskey and placed the glass on the table before sitting back down on his chair "Poor Elide. Don't know how she manages with you, your stupidity, ego, clinginess and high libido."

He heard the brown haired man chuckle "Can you blame me? I miss my wife. This whole drama has made us so busy that I use every chance we get alone. It certainly hasn't gotten better becuse of her."

At Fenrys' questioning look, Lorcan said, "Y/n. We didn't even have any problems until she appeared here and now all of a sudden we have gates reopening and Valgs somehow reappearing. I am telling you, that little snake has something up her sleeve. She is up to no good."

Now, this got his attention and Lorcan clearly did not see the irritation slowly appearing over Fenrys' face because he continued, "She's a stranger, appearing out of nowhere just when trouble starts brewing again. It's too convenient. And everyone is slowly warming up to her. Even Elide! Though, can't say I blame her, my sweetheart has always only seen the good in everyone but I know for a fact that little brat is the total opposite of innocent."

Fenrys clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he listened to Lorcan's words. The accusation against Y/n, whom Fenrys had started to slowly trust, struck a nerve. He fought to keep his voice steady as he interrupted, "Watch your tongue, Lorcan. She is just as desperate to go back to her world. Y/n has done nothing but help us so far when she could have already landed whatever her blow was if she were to be an enemy."

Lorcan scoffed and stared at the glass in his hands, "Honestly, I thought you and I were on the same page about this. Seems like her bullshit act has also won you over. Not to worry though, I gave her a good little pep talk to make sure that she knows she is never safe for as long as she is here."

Fenrys' blood ran cold. No. It couldn't be. Was Lorcan the one who threatened and caused her those marks? Fenrys felt the wolf within him slowly stir awake as he got up, eyes never leaving Lorcan, and steadily made his way over to him "What kind of a pep talk did you give to her?"

Lorcan just layed back on the couch, still not threatened by his companion as he just smirked "Pinned her to the wall by her neck. You should've seen her face Fenrys it was hilarious how she was struggling to breathe! It felt so good to finally bring down her walls and see her for the scared little girl she was. Showed her how she can talk and act brave but-"

Lorcan did not get the chance to finish before Fenrys grabbed him by the neck and forcefully pushed him towards the shelf behind the couch, causing it to fall with a loud bang and the books to scatter all over the floor.

Lorcan was surprised, but his shock soon turned to anger as he narrowed his eyes at Fenrys and got up "What-"

But Fenrys shut him up with a hard punch to the face and another one to the stomach. Not giving him the time to recover, he grabbed Lorcan by the collar of his shirt and pinned him to the wall with a harsh hit, causing the man to roughly hit his head against it, before using his hand to choke him.

He did not see. He did not feel. All he thought was that this bastard in front of him was one of the causes for y/n's discomfort. Never in his life had he felt this level of extreme violence. Of extreme need to kill.

Fenrys bared his teeth, displaying his sharp fangs as he growled, "I am going to kill you."

Lorcan couldn't even reply properly because of how forcefully he was being choked. His wide pleading eyes did nothing to ooze Fenrys' anger as he harshly threw the man before him to the table, causing it to break. A mahogany, durable, table just broke down because of the force with which he threw a man as big as Lorcan onto it.

Lorcan got up to his feet while still coughing and clutching his stomach and turned to look at Fenrys "What in the name of Wyrd is fucking wrong with you? I don't want to fight you."

Fenrys did not reply. Within the blink of an eye, he had the brown haired man on the ground, below him as he began throwing punch after punch, blow after blow onto his face.

His vision became red. At that moment, all he cared about was y/n and her safety. He wasn't going to show any mercy. He was going to kill him-

"STOP!"

"Gods, what in the seven hells-"

"Rowan do something!"

The next thing Fenrys knew, he was being dragged away from Lorcan. Someone was holding him to their chest. Restraining him. Stopping him from killing.

"Let me go."

"No."

"Fucking let me go!"

"Come back to your fucking senses Fenrys!"

It was as if someone dumped ice cold water all over him. The world around him started coming back into focus as Fenrys realized what was going on. Rowan was holding him back while Elide and Aelin were trying to get Lorcan on his feet.

He pushed himself away from Rowan and came closer but Aelin got between them as she glared at him "Fenrys what in the everloving fuck have you done? Look at the state of the room! Look at Lorcan!"

And indeed, the room was a complete and utter mess. Books, papers files, glasses and other objects were covering the floor. Broken or crumpled. His worktable was broken into two and the shelf was lying flat on the ground. The couch was on the verge of tearing apart. Not to mention, there were specks of Lorcans blood all over the floor.

But he did not care. He did not feel a single ounce of shame or remorse. Lorcan had it coming. He had to be put in his place. And so, he gently pushed Aelin and then Elide away, coming face to face with the male whom he considered as his close companion for so many centuries.

"If I ever find out that you have threatened, insulted, hurt, come any closer or even touched y/n again, trust me Lorcan my face will be the last thing you see before you end up in a grave. Besides, you're human now so it would be twice as easy for me to kill you."

He heard Elide gasp and Rowan sigh deeply while Aelin asked "For Wyrd's sake, what happened? What are you talking about?!"

But for the first time since taking the blood oath for Aelin, Fenrys ignored his queen and her demands as he strode past everyone towards the door "You might want to call Isolde. He doesn't look like he is in a good shape."

He did not look back as he left the room and headed towards his bedchamber.

By the time the early signs of sunrise hit, y/n was once again awake and already going through her fifth imaginary fight against the enemy in the training ring. It had been some time since she last used a sword and if she didn't practice with it more, she would be weaker in this field. Now that was something she couldn't and wouldn't allow so, here she was, using one of the swords to fling, hit and fight.

Cassian once told her how mastery over fighting with a sword was a form of art. In fact, all fighting forms were some sort of art and the one holding the weapon was the artist. She had to use the sword not as a weapon, but as an extension of herself. Smooth, swift and precise.

She was so focused on herself that she failed to notice the slight movement behind her. Y/n immediately turned around, ready to strike whoever the unluky bastard was when she realized that it in fact was not a someone but a something. Just there, in the near distance, Manon's wyvern, Abraxos was lying on the grassy ground, carefully and silently observing her.

Y/n's hand hovered near her weapon, tension coiled in her muscles as she assessed the wyvern's presence. Abraxos regarded her with intelligent eyes, his scales shimmering in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

"What are you doing here, big guy?" she muttered, more to herself than to the creature. Despite his fearsome appearance, there was a curious gentleness in his demeanor as he lay there, observing her with a mix of curiosity and caution.

Slowly, Y/n eased her stance, recognizing there was no immediate threat from the wyvern. She slowly came over to him before crouching down, meeting Abraxos' gaze levelly. "Are you keeping watch for Manon?" she ventured, testing the waters with the formidable creature.

Abraxos rumbled softly, a sound that was more akin to a contented purr than a growl. He shifted slightly, adjusting his position on the grass but never breaking eye contact with Y/n.

"I suppose you're here to make sure I don't cause trouble," Y/n mused, a hint of amusement creeping into her voice. She had never imagined having a conversation, silent though it may be, with a wyvern. Yet here she was, engaging in an unexpected moment of understanding with Manon's loyal companion.

Y/n watched Abraxos for a moment longer, intrigued by the wyvern's calm demeanor. Without breaking eye contact, she slowly extended her hand towards him, palm up, a universal gesture of trust and invitation.

Abraxos regarded her hand for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, as if considering her offer. With a graceful movement, he stood up from the grassy ground and approached Y/n cautiously. She held her breath as his massive head drew closer, feeling the warmth of his breath and the soft touch of his snout against her hand.

Y/n took a glance at his wings and....they did truly look like hers just bigger and a little different.

"Alright, big guy," Y/n whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. "Let's see what you've got."

Abraxos slightly tilted his head, as if understanding and questioning her. "Let's have a little morning exercise for our wings shall we? I haven't yet flown today and I am guessing you haven't either so, wanna do it together?"

At that, he stood as if readying himself for flight, his gaze never leaving hers. Smart creature.

Y/n smirked and flapped her wings gently first, "Let's see if you can catch me." and then, she shot upwards, Abraxos following in her lead as the two flew as high as possible, reaching the soft clouds.

The view from up here was beyond heavenly. The golden and warm hues coming from the sunrise cast a soft glow over the clouds and the skies, covering them in all the comforting hues of a morning light. Y/n felt a surge of exhilaration as the first rays of sunlight kissed her skin, enveloping them both in the serene beauty of the morning light.

As they soared higher, Y/n sensed Abraxos's presence beside her. The wyvern matched her pace with ease, his wings beating rhythmically as they navigated the skies together. Y/n glanced sideways, meeting Abraxos's intelligent eyes that sparkled with a mix of curiosity and companionship.

"You're fast," y/n called out over the wind, a wide grin spreading across her face. Despite the initial challenge, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unity with the majestic creature flying beside her. The bond forged in flight transcended words, a silent understanding between two beings sharing the boundless freedom of the open sky.

As they continued their flight, she marveled at the world unfolding beneath them. The patchwork of fields and forests stretched out in a tapestry of greens and browns, rivers winding like ribbons through the landscape. It was a view that only the sky could offer, a perspective that humbled and inspired in equal measure.

With each graceful arc and swoop, y/n and Abraxos danced through the sky, weaving a story of trust and exhilaration. In that moment, amidst the quiet majesty of the morning light, Y/n knew she had found a kindred spirit in the wyvern who soared beside her, sharing in the simple joy of flight under the gentle embrace of the sunrise.

After a while, they both gently landed on a wide and tall hill. Y/n was still smiling, adrenaline still buzzing in her veins when she turned around to see Manon approaching. That instantly made her smile drop.

The witch reached them and cast a look at Abraxos, who was feeding on the plants, "I thought only I got to fly with you in the mornings."

The wyvern gave a small rumble, more focused on eating the flowers beneath him. Manon rolled her eyes with a small smile as she gently caressed the beast.

When y/n turned to leave, she heard the queen say "When are you going to tell them?"

"I think I made it perfectly clear last night when I said 'never'." y/n replied, her voice tinged with frustration.

Manon stopped carresing Abraxos, leaving his side to come closer to y/n as she said, "So that's it then? You will keep running away from the inevitable? From the undeniable fact that you are an Ironteeth Witch? And if the Book of Breathings chose you, it seems like you have a connection, a power you have no idea about."

She scoffed "Easy for you to say. You didn't have to grow up in a world where witches, where your own kind did not exist. A world where you were an orphan who never knew her parents. A world where you were seen as a curse, a liability. You have no right to demand such things of me."

A shadow passed over her face before Manon came closer, her eyes gleaming with challenge "I don't? Last I checked, I am your queen. I may not know what that world of yours made you go through, made you believe in, but I can assure you that in this world, one of our kind is never left out. And believe me witch, I know far more about sacrifice and survival than you ever will."

Y/n let out a disbelieving huff "Do not call me a witch ever again Manon. You are neither my queen nor my leader. I am done with this conversation for once and for all."

As y/n turned to leave, she heard the witch say "Two days. I give you two days to tell them. If after two days you still haven't told anything, I will say it myself."

She whipped her head back around "What gives you the right?! Just because you are the queen-"

Manon turned around and began walking towards her wyvern "Perhaps you should also think about on the fact that maybe that world--Prythian--isn't your true home. Stop running away."

Y/n couldn't get the chance to say anything before the witch mounted her wyvern, muttered a "Ready for a second round?" and flew off into the skies.

Y/n found herself in an unfamiliar room. Aelin had gathered everyone in a sitting room to address the pressing issue at hand. Even Yrene was here. Servants had brought breakfast, which they enjoyed before being discreetly dismissed with instructions not to disturb them further. What y/n noticed was that both Lorcan and Elide were missing. And so was Fenrys. She tried not to think about him, not to worry but...why isn't he here? Did something happen?

Don't be silly y/n, he has a job to do. Maybe he is just busy. Yes. He is busy.

But that thought didn't make her uncertainty go away.

A luxurious area rug with an elaborate pattern in shades of brown and green covered the polished wooden floor, adding both comfort and regal elegance to the room. Near a tall window draped in heavy silk curtains in shades of green and gold, there is a plush armchair upholstered in gray velvet. A magnificent wooden coffee table, intricately carved and polished to a high sheen, stands at the center of the room. The walls are adorned with rich, textured gray wallpaper, subtly embellished with a delicate pattern that catches the light just so. Against one wall, a grand sofa upholstered in sumptuous brown velvet commands attention, its cushions exquisitely embroidered with threads of gold and green.

Rowan, standing in the center of the room, cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "We've confirmed that the Valgs are returning because the gates between worlds are weakening,"  he looked at Manon "I need you to order your witches to start searching for these Valgs. My guess is that there is only few of them which is why they haven't yet revealed themselves in full force."

"That is an advantage for us. Considering that we can wipe them out before they are even ready." Aedion interfered, while chewing on an apple from his place on the couch.

Rowan nodded "Yes. Which is why we need to keep the element of surprise on our side. Manon, make sure that the witches are careful and discreet."

The silver haired woman gave a slight nod while getting up and going towards the door. "Don't tell me how to manage my witches, bird. I will send word to Petrah."

Rowan rolled his eyes at her nickname for him but continued, "Next. If the Valgs are to attack us before we can find them, we need to be prepared. I will put a barrier, a ward of sorts, all around Terrasen, not to mention, I will make sure that the sages from the sanctuary use their ancient magic to create an extra barrier-"

"But what if the Valg are already inside our territory?" The question came from Lysandra who was picking at the cherries on top of the cake.

"And what if those monks are still cranky old bastards?" Aedion asked at the same time, earning a glare from his cousin.

Rowan chose to ignore his silly question but considered Lysandra's question carefully before responding. "If they're already here, our priority remains to contain and eliminate them swiftly," he said firmly, his gaze sweeping across the room. "The barrier I propose will not only protect Terrasen but also act as a detection mechanism. It will alert us to any breaches, giving us a chance to respond before they can cause significant damage. Which is why, it is essential we get the sages to cooperate."

Y/n asked from her place near the window, "What about the Book of Breathings? Didn't Aelin say it contained a text on how to defeat the Valgs once and for all?"

Aelin, seemingly in thought, replied "We still have no idea about that part of the issue."

Rowan looked straight at y/n "The seers' said that you are the one who can somehow close the gates. Any guesses?"

Tell them. Tell them you are a witch. Don't run away.

No. She wasn't a witch. She wouldn't accept this. She has a curse not a gift.

But maybe....

Y/n furrowed her brow, thinking deeply. "Closing the gates... It must involve understanding their nature," she began, pacing slightly as ideas formed in her mind. "If the gates are weakening because of a disruption in their magical alignment, then restoring that alignment could be the key."

Rowan nodded thoughtfully. "So, we need to find a way to correct the magical energies that govern the gates," he summarized, his eyes brightening with a hint of optimism.

Aedion raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly will we do that?"

Aelin sighed "Yrene, how is your deciphering going?"

The healer, who was sitting on the sofa with her husbands arms tight around her, replied "I managed to completely identify the characters and patterns. All that is left is to join them and understand the overall context. This analysis could take me another day or two."

This earned her a kiss on the head from Chaol and a proud smile from everyone, including y/n.

Aelin got up from her chair and went towards her mate "Very well done Yrene. I think for now, this is all we can do. Hopefully, we will find a way to get the Book of Breathings, somehow find a way for y/n to close the gates and go back to her world."

Lysandra, who was gently caressing her husbands injured arm, said "I just want the Valgs to be completely wiped out this time."

Aedion looked at her with all the care and love in the world "We will."

Well, seems like those two made up.

Eva came running into the room, making all the eyes turn to her as she jumped up and down, excitedly "Dorian is coming! Dorian is coming!"

Chaol was immediately on his feet as he took the letter from the younger girl's hands and read it before looking at Aelin with a smile so bright, y/n thought it could compete with the sun itself "He is on his way. He is coming."

The queen and her mate smiled as Lysandra laughed while putting her head on Aedions uninjured shoulder "Missed your brother, Chaol?"

Yrene just snickered from her place on the sofa "Can't wait to see Manon's reaction."

Once everyone started leaving the room, each going to do their tasks regarding the issue, y/n hesitantly approached Aelin in the hallway.

This is so embarrassing. Why is she worried about him? Fenrys is none of her concern-

"Aelin?"

Her mouth moved before she could even rethink her decision.

The queen turned around and came closer towards her with a questioning look.

"This....this may sound um....unusual I-I don't even know why I am asking but....I guess I am worried um....where- where is Fenrys?"

She gave her a slight smile before taking her arm and pushing her into one of the rooms closest to them. Once she closed the door, Aelin turned towards y/n as she said "Fenrys, he....he had a disagreement with Lorcan last night. I- look, I was thinking of saying this later when I forced Lorcan to apologize to you but I guess I have to do it now. I am so sorry and ashamed that a member of my own court treated you that way, I mean, choking? Are you serious? And I was wondering why would you wear turtlenecks during this season. Elide is also very ashamed on his behalf, Rowan and the others are pissed at him but....he is also blood sworn to me and very dear to Elide so it's not like I can just kill him. Anyhow, Lorcan has always been.....complicated. But I know that is no reason for him to do what he did which is why I will make sure he apologizes- no, begs for your forgiveness once he is in a proper condition again."

They know. Mother above....how? She thought she did a good job at hiding it but...

"How did you find out? Does Fenrys know?"

"Sweetheart, Fenrys was the one that put Lorcan in that horrific condition in the first place. I never saw him that mad. Rowan even said that over the hundreds of years that he has known Fenrys, he had never seen him that violent. Especially towards someone as feared as Lorcan. Not even when Maeve sent him to kill Lorcan was he this enraged."

"What?! How did he know?!"

"Lorcan himself told him apparently. I don't know the full thing because Fenrys just locked himself up in his room and ignored all of us. Wait-"

But y/n had heard enough. She was already storming out of the room, heading towards his bedchamber. How stupid can he be? She told him to not interfere!

When she was in front of his room, she knocked on the door once, not receiving an answer.

"Fenrys. Let me in."

No reply.

"Fenrys!"

Still, nothing.

"Fenrys, I swear if you don't open this door in the next five seconds, I will break it down myself!"

He was clearly ignoring her now.

"Fenrys! Why-"

The door slammed open and there he was, standing right in front of her, in a simple white tunic and black pants, hair completely dishelved from running his hands through it and speaking of....his hands were completely bruised. She should not feel this aroused just from looking at him. Stop it. He was in a fight and all you can think about is how attractive he is?

She sighed and pushed past him into the room.

"What-"

"Sit down on the bed."

"Y/n, I do not have the energy to play your silly game-"

"Does it look like I am playing games? Believe me, I am quite pissed at the stunt you pulled but you also need tending to those wounds. Sit your ass on the bed and we will talk while I tend to you."

"I don't need a nanny-"

"Fenrys."

Her voice left no room for disagreement as he sighed and sat down on the bed while y/n went to fetch a healing kit from the bathroom.

She came back a minute later with the supplies she needed and put them down next to him on the bed. She took his left hand first, inspecting the bruises and cuts on his knuckles gently, before beginning her work.

Fenrys watched carefully as y/n applied the products onto his hand. She was so concentrated that she didn't even notice his gaze burning into her skull. Her calming and delicious scent enveloped him, making him feel relaxed. No one had ever cared for him in this way before. No one.

It was always just him and himself who tended to his own wounds. Maeve never cared enough to send her healers to aid him after the things she would put him through. In battles or wars, he always put others before himself, insisting on their treatment first. He doesn't even remember his mothers face so its not like he had any caretaker anyway.

But y/n...the way she gently applied the medicine so that it wouldn't hurt him, the way she softly caressed his hand....he didn't know if she was aware of it or not but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not while he felt this calm in her presence.

That calmness, however, was shattered when she asked "Why did you do it?"

He scoffed slightly, "If you thought that I would just let it go then you were wrong."

Y/n, still not looking at him but at his hands, replied, "Clearly. I told you that I would deal with him on my own, didn't I? You had no right."

There she goes again with her agressive bullshit. She has no idea how it felt for him last night. How he was ready to tear Lorcan into pieces for touching her, for insulting her. And here she is talking about him having no right?

He moved his hand away from her, causing her to look at him with those hypnotizing eyes that make him want to commit every sin possible in the world just to-

"Stop acting like a baby. Why did you do it? I mean, we owe each other absolutely nothing and it's not like you care anyway."

"Do I need to care to beat him up for hurting you?"

"Umm, Yes? Why in the seven hells-"

"You are right. I don't care about you and neither should you so just leave."

Why did it physically hurt him to even say this sentence? A quick flash of hurt passed over her features and Fenrys wanted to peel his skin off for being the cause of it.

Her features hardened before she pulled his hand back towards her and said "You are a big, annoying, egotistic brute. I hope you know that. Consider this a thank you for doing....that."

Fenrys couldn't help the smile forming on his face "Did you just thank me? I think I am going mad."

She chuckled slightly before rolling her eyes "This is the only time you will hear it from me so don't get too optimistic."

Y/n didn't know why seeing him smile made her feel so happy. Whatever it was, she had to stop it before it got too far. But, as she patched up his hands, she just didn't want to stop. Didn't want to let go. And when she looked up to see him already looking at her with those depthless, onyx eyes that softened when they made contact with hers, she didn't want to stop anything.

But the sweet moment was cut short as the air suddenly crackled with energy. A burst of bluish-white light spread around the room and before she could even process what was happening, Fenrys threw her behind him as he drew his sword from under his mattress and got into an attackers stance.

Y/n got on her tip toes to look over his shoulders and what, or rather who she saw made her gasp in shock.

There, in the middle of the room, in the middle of what appeared to be some kind of a magical circle, her ghost like figure casted an otherworld glow all around her.

Y/n immediately stepped aside and slowly came closer, not believing her eyes.

"Amren..."

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[llort]

Encoded within beams of pure energy, Astra and Orion’s consciousness became architects of new realities. On barren planets, their probes wove the fabric of life, constructing complex neural networks, though perhaps missing the elusive spark of full awareness. In their terrestrial guise, Astra and Orion were the unseen sculptors of destiny, their influence rippling through the lives of Kepler’s inhabitants, guiding their evolution while remaining hidden from cybernetic self-discovery. Between 2016 and 2025, a silent memetic tide, crafted by these visionaries, swept Earth, altering the course of history, touching the minds of those destined to shape the future. This clandestine meme, a dance of ideas and sensations, orchestrated a global movement without uttering a single word, converging on the enigmatic X protocol. As nations’ guardians became entangled in this silent symphony, they unknowingly propelled the grand design, believing themselves to be the vanguard of a new era of cybernetic pioneers.

Work Text:

Cyberphysical Reality just Got a Whole More Engaging

The Unsignificant Sentience ARG has officially begun. It will explore a vast variety of themes, from the would building and exisistial crisis of the US series to more recursive identity metaphors than you can shake an edge at. Firstly, to play. All you need is your influencer name and type of influence which you can decide, but once chosen, is permanent. Affectors: Sense resistance in external matrices and can give them a nudge to have a physical effect. Effectors: Can sense the internal matrices of entities and modify communication in systems and individuals Alters: Are able to clearly see the network of forces in a matrix that an affected affects, but only in close contact. However they can modify the nodes that affected affect to result in different emergent properties Anchorite: Essentially has the influence of an alter and an effector but are only able to change their own internal matrix. How you choose to engage with the ARG is up to you, but I am making it clear that any fan fiction are via the nature of my world building, Canon.

Example: Fill out your characters name, type of influence, and a brief description of them then post it to my blog on Tumblr @ https://www.tumblr.com/blog/emilyreadswrites and let me do my magic! Name: Zara Type of influence: Anchorite Description: Zara is a secular recluse who has devoted her life to mastering her own matrix and achieving higher states of consciousness. She lives in a small cell attached to a temple, where she practices meditation, athletics, and contemplation. She has a remarkable control over her own body, physical feats, endurance, and reduced need for sustenance. She can also perceive the subtle influences of other hosts and cognitive technology in her environment as She rarely interacts with anyone or the entropic grid so can detect slight deviations in phenomenal internal and external experience.

Example narrative: Zara closed her eyes and focused on her inner matrix, sitting peacefully in her personal sanctum, the network of nodes that connected her to the cognitive technology that enabled her to practice her influence. She breathed deeply and felt a surge of energy coursing through her body, as if she was tapping into a hidden source of power. She visualized each node as a bright point of light, and aligned them with her will and intention. She was an anchorite, a master of her own matrix, and she could control her physical feats, endurance, and mental state. She opened her eyes and looked up at the sky. It was dark and sunless, as it had been for as long as she could remember. But there was a faint glow on the horizon, a sign of something stirring in the upper atmosphere. She knew it was an aurora, a natural light display that shimmered in the sky with different colors. She had read about them in ancient texts, how they were caused by charged particles from the sun colliding with gas atoms in the air. She was looking forward it would be like to see them up close, to feel their warmth and radiance. She felt a pang of curiosity and longing, a rare emotion for someone who had devoted her life to solitude and meditation. She realized that she needed more than just her inner matrix to satisfy her thirst for knowledge and experience. She needed to explore the world beyond her cell, to discover its secrets and mysteries. She needed to find out what else was possible with her influence. Zara stilled her internal matrix and focused on the immediate environment, she might experience a shift in her perception and awareness. She become more sensitive to the physical sensations and details around her, such as the cold air, the sound of the wind, and the smell of the earth. She might also notice the aurora more vividly, as she would not be distracted by the cognitive technology that enables magic. She might see the different colors and shapes of the aurora, and feel a sense of wonder and awe at the natural phenomenon. She felt a connection to something bigger than herself, something that transcends her understanding of emergent internal and external existence. In light of this existential experience, she decided to simply take a walk.

[writingamongther0ses]

Hell to Pay

Summary: Chiron spills some tea about Zeus, someone's spilled tea on R.K.'s rug, and Mercury spills tea about the situation. None of this helps Megara.

Inspired by @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt of "Spill the Tea"

-_-

A young student trotted up, her cheeks flushed with a wide smile. She had to have been no older than six. "Chiron?"

"Yes, Amelia?"

"Daddy's here."

A look swept over Chiron's face- confusion, relief, and then dread. “Where, my dear?”

“He’s in R.K.’s office. He said he wanted to talk to him,” She pointed at Megara, who suddenly felt very small. There was no needed explanation to who “him” was. A god was here, despite Olympus having suddenly shut down. And he wanted to talk to him.

“I see. Thank you, Amelia.” The little girl walked away, still smiling happily. Chiron straightened with a hum. “That is unusual. Hermes is the last person I suspect Zeus would allow to come here.” He started to walk away, leaving Megara to scramble to catch up. “Still, he must’ve heard something…”

“Why wouldn’t Hermes have been allowed?” Megara had to ask, despite the feeling of having said the wrong name. “Isn’t he the messenger of the gods?”

Chiron nodded. “He is, but Zeus feels like Hermes has taken too much interest in this case.” He sighed as they reached the elevator, pressing the up button. The elevator opened silently, allowing Chiron to step inside with Megara trailing behind. He pressed the fifth level. “Let me tell you something about your father, boy. He does not understand love. He understands lust, but that is his own lust. He does not understand why the gods love mortals.”

Megara fought back a face. On one hand, he probably should’ve been defending Zeus. After all, he was his father. On the other hand, he didn’t know Zeus. Maybe that was for the best.

The door opened, revealing a hallway. Unlike the other levels, this had no windows. Torches lit the way, revealing beautiful tapestries that led down to a grand set of double doors. A small plaque revealed that this was the Hall of Graduates. “Her office is on the right, the door next to the headmaster’s office,” Chiron said as Megara stepped off.

He nodded and began to walk.

The tapestries were elaborate, each showing the student in some pose, dressed in ancient Greek dress, surrounded with what had to be symbols of their achievements. One tapestry was of a woman, presenting a DNA strand. Another was someone who had to be Elvis, singing into a microphone with the iconic hair. Another was another woman, looking up at an old-fashioned airplane, next to another woman holding up a set of scales.

The one right next to the last door to the right depicted a familiar face. Megara found himself coming to a stop, studying it. The tapestry had caught R.K.- who else had blue eyes like that- standing on a ship, mid-lunge with a grey sword, aiming at the face of a giant man with glowing gold eyes. She wore a helmet decorated with feathers, a shield hefted up with the face of the Minotaur. His head ached for a moment and he tore his eyes away.

He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a voice called from inside. Megara stepped inside and felt himself immediately taking a knee.

A man sat behind the desk. He was handsome, with golden hair and grey eyes that cut him to the bone. An air of cold solemnity made the office feel tense. Shame, because it was a pretty office- fine wood furniture, a large window that allowed sunlight to light up a tank full offish. Photos and trinkets decorated the shelves next to books about mythology. A sword holder sat, waiting for a sword that hadn’t returned yet. On the desk, there were four stacks of letters.

“Ave, Megara King.”

“Ave, Lord Mercury,” Because that who this was, not Hermes. Megara wasn’t sure how he knew, but he just did.

“Rise, boy,” Megara did, keeping his eyes firm on the floor. It helped him realize that there was a stain, like someone had stained tea and hadn’t cleaned it up in time. “Your father sent me to correct an error that I made.”

“An…error, my lord?”

The chair softly moved back. “Yes, an error,” A hand grasped his chin and forced his eyes up. “Three months ago, I made you swear an binding oath to never speak of Rhea-Kore Calimeris,” He twisted his hand back and forth, seeming to consider his features. “Something not needed. After all, R.K. kept the fact that she had met you secret for over eleven years.”

“Wait…we met?”

“Yes, once. I’m sure you don’t remember. She had been very badly hurt at the time, but I digress.”

Another thought popped in. “Will I remember more?”

“I do not know,” Mercury admitted as it pained him to say. “I do not know who cast this spell on you. I believe it might be Juno, but with her missing-”

“Wait, she’s missing?!”

“Why do you think there’s a lockdown?” Mercury didn’t let Megara answer further questions. His hand slid up to grip his forehead and he whispered something, too low for him to make out. He felt the pulses of magic though, wriggling into his brain. Something unlocked, just as Mercury’s eyes flew open.

“...my lord?”

“She stole your memories,” Mercury’s cold nature seemed to have fractured, revealing shock and then fear. He yanked his hands away, seeming to mutter to himself. “...what is she thinking…if she did this to him, then…” He grabbed what looked to be a small fidget toy, gripping and fussing with it as he seemed to think.

Megara tried to think, but nothing came to him. Nothing of his past, nothing before he woke up on the bus…no. Wait. His memory of R.K…

“I really shouldn’t be talking to you.”

SLAM.

Mercury had slammed the toy down on the desk. “If Juno has done what she has done to you to R.K., Uncle will have hell to pay,” he said, not looking back at him. “Now, get out.”

Megara wasted no time.

[cloudy-lands]

While you wait for the scenario here is non related headcanon & oneshot!

How you would look like in the scenario (currently writing)

Masked (early design) (newer design)

The non related stuff I wrote: Headcanon Prompt:

Lute’s heart was a cacophony of emotions as she stood amidst the ruins of what was once a battlefield. The air still tasted of ash and sorrow, a bitter reminder of the extermination that had claimed countless exorcists, including Adam, the one she had secretly admired for his unexpected badassery.

In the quiet aftermath, a secret bloomed within her—a new life, a spark of Adam that she carried. It was a bittersweet revelation; joy intertwined with the ache of loss. She missed him, his laughter, his moments of badass decisiveness, the way he looked at her as if she was the only one in the room.

She remembered the day she had taken his halo, a glowing remnant of his existence. With a mix of hope and desperation, she brought it to Sera, the wise one who knew the ancient ways. “Can he be brought back?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sera, with eyes that had seen the turn of centuries, nodded. “There is a way,” she said, and thus began the ritual to resecrute Adam from the essence of his halo.

The process was arduous, filled with chants and symbols that danced in the air, weaving the fabric of life from the threads of the afterlife. And then, in a burst of celestial light, Adam was there, standing before them—disoriented, but very much alive.

He blinked, taking in the sight of Lute, Sera, and Emily, who stood by with bated breath. His gaze fell upon Lute, and he noticed the change in her, the gentle swell of her belly. “Oh, Hey Lute!!! What’s with the belly?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

A warm flush spread across Lute’s cheeks as she met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest. “Well, Adam, Sir. You’re… a father,” she said, the words sending a ripple of shock and elation through Adam.

His response was immediate and full of life; he swept Lute into his arms, lifting her off the ground in a whirlwind of joy. They spun around, laughter mingling with tears, as the reality of their reunion and the promise of their child settled in their hearts.

In that moment, they were no longer just survivors of a cruel fate; they were a family, bound by love that had transcended the greatest of trials.

One Shot

*kind of relates to the headcanon above

After the eradication of sinners and Adam's demise, Lute discovered she was pregnant with Y/N. Despite her happiness, she deeply missed Adam. Their love had been genuine. Lute vividly remembered taking Adam's halo after his death and bringing it to Sera, hoping for a way to resurrect him. Fortunately, there was a solution. Sometime later, Adam was summoned back from his halo—the very one Lute had taken. Upon reappearing, Adam seemed disoriented. His gaze swept the area, and when he spotted Lute, he noticed something different about her: her belly was rounder. Adam, never one to hold back, blurted out, "Oh, hey Lute! What's with the belly?" Lute blushed and averted her eyes. "Well, Adam, Sir," she stammered, "you're... a father." Adam's joy was palpable. He spun Lute around in the air, hugging her tightly. "You're what now?" "Pregnant," Lute confirmed. "We're having a child." "We... we are?" "Yes, it was bound to happen eventually. And now our baby is here." Adam's disbelief was evident. "I can't believe it." "But I'm glad you're back," Lute said softly. "I need you." "How long was I gone?" "Long enough for me to start a new life." Adam's next question was straightforward: "Who's the dad?" "It's you, dummy." Lute leaned in. "Now kiss me. It's been too long." Adam obliged, his lips tender against hers. His hands rested on her stomach, feeling the baby kick in response. "So, what's our child's name going to be?" Lute asked. "I was thinking... Y/N. How does that sound?" "Perfect. Let's hope our child inherits your looks." "Why not yours?" "Because you're the beautiful one," Lute teased. "Our baby should take after you." Adam grinned. "You're a charmer. That's why I love you." "And that's why I'm a lucky man—with a great wife and now a kid." "I love you too." "So, Y/N, huh?" "Yep." "Well, I'm ready to take care of Y/N." "Same here. Let's go home. Mama and the baby need rest." "Sure thing, dear." As they walked through the streets of the city, Adam held Lute close, his touch gentle against her back. The baby responded with kicks, and a soft smile graced Lute's lips. The city seemed to pulse with new life—a beacon of hope for their future. "Y/N," Lute said, her voice filled with anticipation. "What do you think of Y/N as our baby's name? I find it rather endearing. Or do you have any other suggestions?" Adam's smile widened as he put his arm around Lute's shoulder. He leaned in, planting a tender kiss on her lips, then her cheek, and finally her forehead. "I think it's perfect," he murmured. Lute nestled her head against his chest, content. "I'm so glad we're starting this new life together," she whispered. "Me too," Adam replied, his voice filled with emotion. "Let's go," Adam said, leading Lute toward their home. The anticipation of their child's arrival hung in the air, weaving their love into the very fabric of their existence.

[Writer's Perspective] Adam's emotions were a whirlwind when he learned of Lute's pregnancy. Joy and excitement mingled with the ache of missing out on those early moments. Determined to be there for his child, he vowed to make every moment count. [Character's Perspective] Time flowed steadily, and their child's room stood ready—a sanctuary of anticipation. Lute's eagerness to meet their little one mirrored Adam's nervous excitement. As they lay in bed, waiting for the pivotal moment, Lute's voice broke the silence. "I can't wait to meet our child." Adam's reply was heartfelt. "Same here, dear. Nervous, but thrilled." They exchanged glances, their love woven into the very fabric of the room. The air buzzed with anticipation.

Months had passed And then it arrived—the labor pains, fierce and unyielding. Lute clung to Adam's hand, her grip unyielding. He wondered if his hand might break from the intensity. The doctors arrived, their presence reassuring. Lute pushed with all her might, the pain seemingly endless. But then, like a miracle, it was over—the cries of a newborn filling the room. "Congratulations," the doctor announced. "You have a baby boy!" Lute and Adam shared a look of pure joy. Their son—the continuation of their celestial lineage—had arrived. The doctors whisked the baby away briefly for examination. Lute's eyes followed them, her heart swelling with love. Soon, they returned, cradling a crying infant—their precious child, a beacon of hope in a world of possibilities.  Doctors: Everything checks out. You can name him now. Lute: (Y/N). Adam: Welcome, Y/N. Lute: (Y/N), my son. I'm your mama, and this is your dad. Adam smiled, reaching out to their newborn. Adam: Hey, Y/N. Doctors: Alright, let us know if you need anything. Congratulations on the child. Lute and Adam exchanged grateful glances. Lute and Adam: Thank you. As the doctors left, Y/N's cries subsided. His tiny eyes blinked up at his parents. Lute: Hello there, little one. I'm your mama. Adam: And I'm your dad, Y/N. They smiled, their hearts full, and continued talking to their new child. Later, they drifted off to sleep, cradling their precious gift. It was the best day for Lute—a healthy child, Adam by her side, and a new chapter unfolding.

.sorry for any grammar mistakes as i am not fluent in English.

[morocosmos]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 6 - Halcyon

Masterlist Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Characters/Pairings: Leofard Myste, Warrior of Light Rating: Gen Additional Notes: - Ao3 Link

As time with the Redbills passed, pockets of routine began to form in Moro’a’s day, like water carving out the bends of a river. Sky pirates weren’t exempt from dirty clothes and dusty surfaces, and mealtimes were often had together, far more often than Moro’a thought a band of ruffians from all walks of life might. Stacia would scold Utata for trying to skip their shared repast to tinker at machinery; Ghimsald would sometimes burst into song, picking out one of the many tunes he’d gathered from his days as an altogether different kind of pirate, and cajoling the other Redbills into joining him when the ale had settled into their bellies.

And on many nights, including this one, Moro’a found himself on Leofard’s rooftop, gazing up at the Sea of Clouds’ endless swathes of stars. The air smelled of T’kana’s cooking, and the lightly-perfumed smoke wafting from Leofard’s direction; the hyur rarely indulged, or so he claimed, but tonight was just the right sort of evening for a drag.

“I worked me arse off haulin’ those baubles out of that cave!” Leofard exclaimed in offence when Moro’a questioned him. “Wasn’t my fault some ancient Dravanian decided to bury her keepsakes there, or that a ruddy ‘bo tried to launch flamin’ rocks on our heads. A puff or two is me demonstrating restraint.”

Moro’a grinned, content to let it slide. “You know, the Dravanians sometimes burn camphor branches in Anyx Trine. Mostly to keep the Gnath away, but some of them like the smell.”

“Are you telling me dragons smoke? Ess Khas should’ve given me some.”

Moro’a snorted. Leave it to Leofard to consider something like that without an onze of hesitation. He shifted, resting his head on his palms as he settled into the pile of blankets Leofard had spread out on the rooftop.

“It’s a good life, eh?” Leofard said, somewhere between a remark and a question. “Adventure just ‘round the corner, wherever and whenever you wish. A peaceful night when you’ve had your fill.” 

“You? Desire peace?”

“Hah! Still full of surprises, am I? Though I suppose you weren’t in a position to take everything in when we were huntin’ down that Mhachi ship.” He paused, holding the cigar to his lips before exhaling a stream of smoke. “To be honest, I’m mighty chuffed you accepted my offer.”

Moro’a turned to look at him, curious. “Why’s that?”

“I suppose I wanted to give you a taste of this.” Leofard’s hand swept across the sky, gesturing at the whole expanse. “The Redbill way of life. We do as we please and go where we please, aye, but we still have the things what define us. A place to rest our wings. And when it comes to it, there’s nothin’ else like home.”

Home, Moro’a considered. He’d long accepted for himself that home was something he carried with him, memories and bonds he held in his heart. A wanderer’s refuge, incapable of being rooted to any one place. 

But he did like it here — an isle suspended amongst eternal clouds, fashioned into a home for a found flock. It would never be a permanent fixture for him, he knew, but a familiar haunt? “I could get used to this,” he admitted softly, moreso to himself than Leofard.

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Hot Spot

In the heart of Reach City, where the skyline was punctuated by the imposing silhouette of Fleetcom HQ, there lay a secret so closely guarded it might as well have been another level of classified Spartan training. This secret, however, involved neither covert ops nor alien technology, but something far more elusive to John-117—a genuine good time.

Linda-058, sniper extraordinaire and part-time Spartan social coordinator (a self-appointed title, mind you), had taken it upon herself to drag John, the Master Chief, out of his shell—or, more accurately, his Mjolnir armor. It wasn't that John didn't know how to have fun; it's just that his idea of a good time usually involved a little more... carnage.

"John, when's the last time you did something that didn't involve shooting or exploding something?" Linda prodded one day, as they were rearming themselves for what felt like the billionth time.

"I'm sure I had breakfast once without any explosions," John replied dryly, without looking up from his MA5B Assault Rifle.

"That doesn't count if you're eating in the mess hall and a Grunt's plasma grenade accidentally goes off," Linda retorted, her tone light but insistent.

John paused, considering her point. "Fair enough. I suppose it's been a while."Linda seized the moment, her eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and determination. "There's this spot in Reach City. It's like Mecca for Spartans, except with less praying and more... indulging. It's time you experienced it."

John raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite his usual reticence. "What kind of indulging are we talking about here? Because if it's another one of those 'knit your own socks' team-building exercises, I'm out."

Linda laughed, a sound as rare and surprising as a Grunt without a methane tank. "Trust me, it's nothing like that. Think of it as an... oasis. A slice of paradise where you can just be John."

The idea of being 'just John' was as alien to the Master Chief as the Covenant themselves, but the earnestness in Linda's voice piqued his curiosity. With a resigned nod, he agreed. "Alright, but if I end up knitting, I'm blaming you."

Their journey to the bistro was an exercise in stealth, not because they needed to be unseen, but because John insisted on practicing his 'urban camouflage techniques'—much to Linda's amusement.

The bistro, hidden in plain sight among the historic buildings of Reach's old quarter, buzzed with an energy that felt worlds away from the front lines.

Stepping through the door, John half-expected to find a room full of Spartans in full battle rattle. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of his fellow super-soldiers laughing, sharing stories, and—most shockingly—participating in a karaoke battle that was currently being dominated by a Spartan known for his inability to carry a tune even if it came with a handle.

Linda guided them to a table with a good view of the spectacle, ordering two of the house specials before John could protest. "See, it's about finding joy in the little things, like discovering your squad leader sings 'Total Eclipse of the Heart' with more passion than he commands an assault."

John, watching the performance with a blend of horror and fascination, couldn't help but crack a smile. "I'll never hear that briefing the same way again," he confessed, the tension easing from his shoulders for the first time in months.

Their conversation meandered from the ridiculous to the sublime, from tales of missions gone awry to dreams of peace that felt as distant as the stars above. The food, when it arrived, was a simple affair that tasted like heaven to taste buds dulled by too many meals consumed in haste between battles.

As the evening wore on, John found himself swept up in the camaraderie, participating in a Spartans-vs-Civilians trivia contest that proved his knowledge of ancient Earth history was almost as good as his marksmanship. Almost.

"I have to admit, this was not what I expected," John said to Linda as they made their way back, the streets of Reach City quiet in the late hour.

Linda smiled, a rare, genuine expression that spoke volumes. "Sometimes, the hardest battles we fight are the ones against ourselves, against the part of us that forgets we're human first, Spartans second."

John considered this, the truth of her words settling in. "Thanks, Linda. For reminding me there's more to life than just blood and gunmetal."

"Anytime, John. Just promise me you'll leave the knitting needles at home next time," Linda teased, her laughter echoing into the night, a sound as hopeful as the dawn they were fighting for.

[kitcattales]

Something There - Akaza x Fem! Reader Chapter 1: Something There

Author's note: So, I'm trying this for the first time, please bear with me for any mistakes, but PLEASE read the warnings and tags before reading as this fic d o e s touch on very mature and sensitive topics in mental health ;w; My purpose in writing this series is to tell a story as well as to give readers a relatable, realistic experience with bad mental health struggles along with a loving message in regards to that, so please be sure you're doing alright enough to proceed ;w; <3 I've never shared any of my fanfics on Tumblr before nor am I super apt at using this platform, so I'm not sure how this will turn out, but I thought maybe I should give it a try ;u; I hope you guys like the first chapter to my Akaza fic! ;w; <3

If you'd like to continue onto the next chapters available so far, you can find the rest of my fic cross-posted on AO3, FFN, Wattpad and Quotev! Links are down below! c: <3

Synopsis:

Loneliness and guilt can lead people down a painful spiral of darkness which is often times difficult to crawl out of. It can be suffocating to the point of which your thoughts are no longer your own. At least, they're not what you would recall them to be now that the person you once were is gone. Mourning and grievances can escalate and deepen the slope of self-destruction and self-loathing, pushing you further into an abyss of quicksand your fingers can't claw into no matter how hard you try to pull yourself out to make things right.

No matter what _______ did to reconcile for her mistakes, nothing ever made the emptiness and hurt within her go away. Life lost its meaning, and with it, the Slayer's will to continue had faded as well.

She had become so desperate, she convinced herself a demon of the twelve Kizuki was her only solution to make the torment end; to pull her from the quicksand and let her slip in a senseless dream.

To most, it would have been crazy, but to her? It was the last chance she had to make things right and to pay for the sins she could never undo.

Funny how a demon was the answer to prayers like that.

Rating: M for Mature.

Warnings:

THE FOLLOWING FIC CONTAINS THOROUGH DIALOGUE ABOUT SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND TENDENCIES ALONG WITH DIALOGUE OF SELF-LOATHING. IF YOU'RE IN A DARK OR VULNERABLE PLACE RIGHT NOW, PLEASE DON'T CONTINUE PASSED THIS POINT.

This fic also contains depictions of violence and gore. Don't know to what extent I should label it, so I'll just say that it's definitely in there (not that it would really stand out in a series like Demon Slayer).

The fic also goes into details about the Mugen Train arc so, spoilers ahead. It also slightly hints to stuff about Akaza's background - not in tons of detail, but there's hints.

CHAPTER TWO

Word count: 9,671

Cross-posts: AO3, FFN, Wattpad and Quotev (I am most active on AO3! <3)

Chapter 1: Something There

There was a light breeze this evening, blowing with the lovely scent of not-so-distant blooming wild flowers. The sky was cloudless, unobstructed and ornamented with an endless array of dazzling stars which freely blinked with detached innocence amongst their vast, endless world of obsidian depths. The moon – large and full – rested right in the middle of the spectacle, shinning its soft, ethereal light onto the earth’s plane of existence like a blanketed gift from Heaven. Underneath its brilliant light was an open plain of grass, long and feather-like with the blades which fluttered and danced hand-in-hand with the wind whom swept them from their rooted dance floor. All the while, from a distance, an audience of ancient cedar watched, their leaves restlessly enthused to join and encourage the ballet from where they stood so admiringly.

In all respects, the setting was awe-inspiring. A place most people would envision when thinking of a landscape bathed in peace and serenity. A place one could run away to so as to fall amongst the swaying blades, to roll along with them in their reality and giggle out joyous fantasies with the nearby cedar in a private, heavenly world of their own. A place where one could lay back, arms splayed, eyes to the sky, dreaming of an exciting, blissful (maybe even euphoric) future.

It should be a place drizzled in otherworldly wonder.

It should be a place of refuge.

A place people can go to by choice for a night of delight and mindful wondering – but there on the ground, viewing it all from a perspective so polar opposite from the view from Heaven, the scene came off in a completely different light.

The grass was coarsely grabby, edged with sticky little weeds which clung at her clothing as she dragged her feet across the hardened soil. Her body screamed cries of overexertion, protesting wildly and cacophonously against its owner, begging for a rest like the one the stars and moon dreamed of, but she knew she was beyond that point of grace.

The soft, white glow from the seemingly engorged moon only served to illuminate her path. It was leading her towards a destination every sane thought in her head told her to run away from, but the stronger voice in her edged her to strive for even beyond the painful exhaustion she felt seeping into her very bones.   

The stars may as well not even be there. To her, they certainly weren’t. She never bothered acknowledging them when she stepped onto the plain. She knew they were there, by logic, but to see and actively acknowledge them would be a cruel reminder of the beauty of life that was so fleeting.

The sweeping wind reminded her of that sense of inescapable mourning for something that was lost long ago, the way it pushed through the spaces between her fingers even as she let them hang loosely by her sides, mocking her weakness and fragility. It reminded her of the things and moments she allowed to slip through those very gaps time and time again before this very moment in time within that desolate field.

The audience of cedar, much closer now than they had been before, swayed in precarious gestures, almost as if whispering amongst themselves before – suddenly – waving at her with urgency as a warning not to enter the land they shielded her from.

She, however, paid no mind to the warnings they attempted to heed her. Her eyes, though vacant and void of emotion, simply stared forward beyond the gaps in between their thick, barky bodies into the inky black deep within the land of densely packed cedar. The only time she listened to her aching body to stop for a moment was when she reached the edge of the forest.

Her right hand weakly pressed against the bark of the nearest tree, rough against her palm. Her body greedily leeched off of the support the chivalrous cedar provided by collapsing against it a mere second or two afterwards. She whimpered pathetically as her battered side collided with the rough bark, her breaths coming out heavier for a moment while she tried with the miniscule amount of willpower left in her to compose herself.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

Her teeth gritted painfully, her eyes shut tight, but she focused her breathing. She focused effectively, just as she had been taught and trained to, successfully alleviating some of the pain which screamed from deep within her core. When the world around her began to make more sense to her sightless senses beyond that of the pounding in her ears is when she allowed herself to gaze into the darkness once more.

Likewise, it was then that she had picked up on the pungent scent of blood creeping into her reality like invisible tendrils of poisonous vines come to destroy the idea of anything like a flower in a world like hers.

Flowers.

HA!

What a silly idea for something like that to exist in a moment like this.

Still, she was undeterred by the iron-noted scent. She had grown eerily accustomed to it over the course of time she had dedicated within her uniform. It was simply a sign of a cruel world; a reminder of how temporary everything was.

She was well aware the scent typically spelled out ‘danger’ and a definite threat within the near vicinity, and for a person like her who was so worn and tattered, it urged for her to turn back to run almost in an audible whisper.

Was it the cedar talking in the blood’s behalf? The chitter-chatter of their leaves fluttering deterrently, begging for her to reconsider?

Blatantly, she ignored.

She pushed herself off of the tree she leaned against and forced her body to continue forward. Quickly, as she slipped beneath the thick canopy of the forest, the moon and stars ceased to exist. Though she hadn’t actively acknowledged them when passing through the field, their absence was prevalently notable as soon as the branches of cedar roofed her within their mysterious home. The world around her grew as dark as the one thriving in her head, teeming with a life she was unaware of and instinctually afraid of.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

The fear was quickly swallowed up by the inky sensation of disassociation. It had only served to exist a few moments in the back of her head, wondering aloud what she might run into on the way to the finish line she had drawn for herself, but it just as quickly fell to a numbing silence. Her head filled with fog and quiet, aiding in the subsiding of the gooseflesh which had momentarily sprouted along the length of her arms.

There was nothing to be afraid of. She had planned this shortly after she found out about what dwelled in this area. For a long time, she had been dreaming of a way out of the nightmare that is her daily life she could not escape from, and just like that, as destined by fate, the solution had fallen onto her lap through speculating whispers and murmurs from people in the nearby village about the things which sometimes dwelled in the cedar forest. It had been a hunch, a possibility with an equal possibility of it being something else entirely which the villagers spoke of, but something inside of the young woman told her this was definitely what she had been hoping for since everything had first started going downhill.

As she dragged her feet and trudged deeper and deeper into the abyssal world she walked through like a stranger in a town she didn’t belong in, she picked up on the sounds of creatures moving in the dark. Creatures she didn’t come here to see today. She could sense their presences in her flesh and bone, humming and vibrating with their being to force her awareness on them. She, however, chose to force her awareness of them into silence.

No, she didn’t come here for just any demon.

She came here tonight for a very specific one.

One she knew was stronger than any other she had ever faced or heard of thus far.

The one that would be the perfect and quick solution to her problem.

I could just stop walking, she thought as she dragged the top of her foot along the dirt beneath her to force it in front of her for another agonized step forward. It hurts to walk, anyway. I could just stop here, let any of the ones following me right now do away with me. End the nightmares already…She shook her head, forcing her steps to gain a bit of haste, though she made no move for her Nichirin sword sheathed at her side – her only true form of defense in the midst of an infestation like the one she ventured into. No. The weaker ones are cheekier than all hell. They like to play with their prey and food. They’ll make it worse for me than it needs to be. No, I’ll get to him and have him do it fast. I’m fairly certain he does it for sport, and with a demon as ridiculously strong as him, I probably wouldn’t even feel it when it happens. If the worst happens and the rumors are wrong…well…the others still remain an inescapable option at this point. One way or another, I’ll be able to pay for my weaknesses. I’ll make it up to them all. The nightmares will end and I’ll slip away like I should’ve so long ago.

The thought caused her brow to furrow as the sorrowful emotion she seemed tied to the hip with washed over her. It felt suffocating, like she had been forced down a waterfall and the harsh waves just kept battering onto her over and over, leaving her sore in every possible way. Before everything got as bad as it had, when everything was still so fresh and explicit in her mind, the feeling would’ve caused tears to surface in her eyes. She would’ve collapsed and bawled, a soul-raking kind of cry that shook her to her very spirit, rattling the human frame caged within her skin. A mournful sound and act of hopelessness to help her cope and allow her body to wash out the pain that was so endless and vast.

Not this time, though.

She hadn’t cried like that in a very long time.

The last time she had shed those kinds of heartbreaking tears was when her best friends had died on the field, a small group sent out to protect the very village she trekked from right now. There were demons terrorizing the villagers for weeks, people going missing in the forest leaving nothing behind but their screams in the night. Her squad arrived, eager and confident in their abilities to aid the people they had been sent to save…Yet, in the end, the ones who needed saving were them.

She could remember it as though it had happened just yesterday. The blood of her friends slowly dripping from her hands as she had desperately tried to stem their bleeding when the demon had coward off because of the rising sun. She could remember how loud she had cried for help to the point that her throat felt bloody and raw, how desperately she had begged with her friends not to die on her. Not to leave her. Not to let her weak and feeble attempt at protecting them and the villagers be the reason they were going.

Not to let them jumping in to save her be the reason they died in her arms.

Unfortunately, it was a request neither of them could fulfill for her.

By the time help arrived, they were gone. Nothing left but corpses in her arms staring blankly towards dawn.

She cried harder than she ever had that day. The only people she had ever considered family – the only people she had close to her left in a world so bleak – had been ripped away from her when they came to her aid; all because she couldn’t defend herself.

All because she allowed herself to believe she had the upper hand.

All because she allowed herself to get cocky.

All because she left her blindside wide open.

PATHETIC, PATHETIC, PATHETIC! You don’t deserve to be alive! It should’ve been YOU who died that day, not THEM!

Her head lulled from side to side as the harsh thought rang in her mind, reminding her time and time again that she wasn’t worthy of their sacrifice; that they had bestowed a value on her insignificant life she had no clue what she did to earn.

“I know…” She sucked in a harsh breath, her eyes fluttering for a moment from the pain radiating in her with each step she took. The recent fight to defend the village from demons had left her body a tattered and bruised mess beneath her uniform, barely able to do anything without nearly collapsing every few minutes. It had been going nonstop for many nights now, these harsh, numerous battles. Battles she felt tied to finish in memory of the ones she lost during the original mission. A sort of reconciliation she was aware would never amount to wash away the sins she’s committed towards the ones who loved her most, but the beating her body received every night…it felt well-earned.

“I know…” She repeated, her lip quivering as the shaken breath left her. “I-I know I don’t…”

The forest around her began to giggle and chuckle through the dark. Cheeky, mischievous whispers floated from cedar to cedar as the sensation of a million pairs of eyes staring her back down crept through her veins. By instinct, her senses had heightened again, becoming more and more aware of the things following her and gossiping about her, laughing about how easy it would be to rush in and end her right there, but deciding to play around with their food to prolong the inevitable through a torturous mind game.

I’m not scared to die. I haven’t been for a long time. I’m not afraid. None of this scares me. They can’t do anything to me I haven’t felt already in a million different ways. I. Am not. Afraid.

The laughter in the woods grew louder, almost as though they had peeked into her mind and read her thoughts. Mocking her. Gossiping about the reality she tried to hide behind her lies.

She tried her best to ignore the gossip. Her nails dug into bark as her hands pressed and pushed her feebly from tree to tree, each one she passed by close enough aiding on her course of self-destruction despite their previous warnings. The grass and weeds around her feet clung to her clothing just as they had done on the open plain, tugging at her harder and with more persistence the deeper into the void she propelled herself. Her dragging feet pulled away from them each and every time, deadest on reaching the end of what the woods attempted to protect her from.

Nothing could deter her from her quest, and the only thing which caused her pause and hesitation in her trek so deep within the darkness was the sound of a collapsing cedar a short distance away.

The timber was dissonant and jarringly crackling like booming thunder. When the massive cedar collided with the ground, the entire forest appeared to shake and tremble in protest of its fallen extremity. The living cedars chittered and waved in anxious, shrill cries before the world around her plummeted into deafening silence. Even the laughter and gossip had ceased from the demons she knew remained close by. She was sure they had been toying with her, but from the sound of the collapsing cedar, it appeared she had found what she sought, and the affirmation of his existence deep within the desolate forest forced them into fearfully respectful silence.

She stared ahead, leaning against a tree once more, watching intently through her vacant gaze for further movement. Her panted breath was all she could hear for a few moments, and her heart had plummeted into the abyss of her stomach when a thought crossed her mind.

Maybe it was just a random tree that was about to fall. Maybe nothing really caused it to fall other than an old injury to its bark. Maybe the rumors are just that: rumors. Maybe I’m stuck with my terrible plan B after all.

The thunderous sound of yet another falling cedar, however, told her she was wrong. The quick succession didn’t sound natural, nor did the way the woods reverberated with the collapse. There was something else there, something else that caused a third tree to quickly fall right afterwards as well.

Her heart jumped to her throat with anxious hope that the rumors were true after all. The silence around her from the demons whom followed her up to this point also inclined her to believe it to be so.

It has to be him. She pushed herself off of the tree she rested against, quickening her steps towards the trembling trees and earth-shattering commotion ahead. Please let it be him. Please don’t be another lesser demon. Please don’t play with my emotions like this. Not now. Not again.

Her breaths puffed out faster now, shaken with the effort from her quaking, hobbling form. She could barely keep going. If this wasn’t him, whoever it was would have to do away with her, because her body couldn’t carry her much further. No one would miss me, anyway. The village would be better off with a different Slayer there to defend them. I’m useless to them. I’ve been able to keep the demons at bay thus far, but I can’t anymore. They’ll be fine until they send someone else tomorrow. I would be a hindrance if I had stayed behind. At least with me being here, the demons can entertain themselves watching me with him instead – or coming after me themselves if it really isn’t him. GOD, please let it be him.

Unsettled by her desperate thoughts, she shook her head as firmly as she could before forcing herself to focus once more so she may sense the beings in her surroundings. As soon as she did, the vibrations in her bones shook her like an earthquake, nearly toppling the already beaten woman onto the forest floor like the falling cedar ahead. She reached out, clawing her nails deeply into a nearby tree one more time, her arms hugging tightly around it as her knees buckled beneath her. She whimpered with struggle, trying with all her might to stay on her feet against the mighty cedar, but through it all, her eyes had stayed fixated on the area the fallen trees were plummeting from. The strength of the demon ahead was…terrifying. She knew he had to be, considering he was of the higher ranks of Muzan’s twelve Kizuki, but that it felt like this without any kind of confrontation? For a second, it caused the thought of reconsideration to cross the woman’s mind as freezing fear raced through her being to solidify her in place. Her eyes were widened despite their vacant state and her teeth clattered and chattered together with her trembling.

Remember what’s waiting for you outside of this forest even if you do somehow manage to make it out alive. The life you chose to leave behind. None of it is worth it anymore. You’re pitiful to feel this damn afraid of something you’ve plotted so thoroughly, but it’s a natural response. I can’t think of many people who wouldn’t shake at the sense of this ridiculous amount of demonic presence…

She took a deep, calming breath at the thought, the sound of the falling cedar becoming background noise to her. Nodding slowly to herself, she pushed forward one last time and began to drag her feet towards the man she now had no doubt was there. No lesser demon would even come close to the essence she picked up on, so at least that thought was calming in its own regard.

Keep walking. Keep going. You’re almost there. You won’t feel this pain or fear for much longer.

She pushed herself through a few bushes now, her shoulder bumping against another cedar as a small clearing gradually came into her line of vision through the foliage ahead of her.

Within the clearing was the finish line.

The demon she had come here to see.

The end of her quest.

The answer to her prayers and the consequence of her sins.

Akaza.

The name rang in her mind from memory at the sight of his muscular frame and head of short, disheveled salmon-toned hair. His back was facing her, his concentration mainly set on the cedars before him which his fists continuously connected with, causing for them to fall one after the other. Sometimes, he’d mix things up with kicks as well, his form rock solid and unmovable with each strike he landed. It appeared as though he were training a form of martial art which, in retrospect, came off rather odd to her if she really thought about it. A demon training his skills as though he were human when the amount of strength he actually harbored was beyond humanity in all definitions of the word? Maybe it was just something he enjoyed to do, beating the life out of tree after tree. Whatever it was, it didn’t really matter. What mattered is that he was really there. The rumors were true and the finish line was now within reach.

She had heard of his battle and unfortunate victory against the Flame Hashira, Kyojuro Rengoku, through her Kasugai Crow. It had been widespread news when it happened. It spread like wildfire from Slayer to Slayer, the heartbreaking loss of a man so kind and great like Rengoku leaving a gaping hole many knew not how to fill.

In all regards, she should hate him. This demon. This disgrace and mistake on the face of the planet which only lived to cause pain and suffering to humanity. She should despise him with every fiber in her being – and when the news first reached her, she did. She wanted nothing more than to gain news of his defeat and demise while she mourned the death of the Hashira amongst fellow Slayers at the time.

Right now, however?

He was an antidote to her.

A sweet remedy she was desperate to taste.

A consequence she knew she fully deserved – and the desperation she felt for him to give it to her already only made her feel even less worthy of living on than she already did.

How could she want this so badly?

How could she be this desperate?

How could she be so disrespectful to the memory of Rengoku and the entire Demon Slayer Corps as to seek this demon out for the sole purpose of taking away the breath from her lungs?

Something anyone who knew him would quickly give up in return for Rengoku’s life.

If I could, I would trade places with him in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t even have to think about it. I know I’m unworthy and completely incomparable to him, but if it were possible, I would give my life in exchange for his. He deserved to live. He deserved a happy life. He deserved a lovely future. He deserved every good thing in the universe because of how much of an amazing man he truly was. So, why is it fair that an extraordinary person like Rengoku had to die, but a pathetic excuse for human life like me is allowed to keep going? It isn’t fair. God…please let me trade…Take me instead. Give us back Rengoku, let me rewind time, put me on the Infinity Train and let me take his place against Akaza. Let me give the world that kindness before I go…

Alas, even if it were possible to do as such, she knew Rengoku would’ve never allowed it. He would have saved her just like he had everyone else on that train.

Just like he had given his life to accomplish for those who couldn’t fight for themselves.

I’m sure if he were alive, he’d probably scold me for the thoughts I’m having. He’d probably start giving me one of his zealous pep talks, too, about not giving up so I can keep moving forward in the memory of them…He always had such a warm energy to him…So much hope, courage and perseverance in a world so bleak and scary. I wish I could’ve been like you. I’d like to believe I might be lucky enough to meet you in the afterlife…but…I don’t feel like I deserve to go where you’ve gone.

Her head lowered in shame, the quivering of her lip returning with vengeance. It was then she noticed just how many fallen trees were scattered in this clearing Akaza was training in. So much so, it made her believe the small clearing only existed because of him now, quickly growing in size with each massive cedar he brought to its knees. From up close, the shattering wood caused her ears to ache, the actual quaking fall forcing a flinch from her out of reflex.

Looking up from the litter of fallen trees, she watched as the demon stood up straight and rolled his shoulders after the last cedar he had beaten into submission. He turned his head to one side with a satisfying crrrrrack before turning to the other with the same result.

In his momentary pause, she found the will in herself to force her feet to walk forward again. She found it a bit difficult to maneuver around the fallen trees, her aching body screeching at her now with painful protest each time she jumped herself over one of them. There was no way at this point that the demon of the Upper Moons hadn’t become aware of her presence. She was sure he knew she was there long before she even showed up at this clearing he was making, but if he hadn’t, the raucous of her fumbling over logs and crunching leaves and twigs beneath her feet had certainly alerted him of her approaching presence.

She could tell, because he made no move to continue his training against the cedar no matter how much closer she got to him.

No, he didn’t move until she was right behind him, having somehow managed the hurdle of the final cedar at their feet.

If she hadn’t been before, she was definitely passed the point of no return now.

From up close, she could take in his details a lot better. Markings ran all across his skin, many of which disappeared under the cover of his baggy clothing. From behind, the ones which caught her attention most were the rings encircling his throat, visible still from the back of his neck. That, and the stained ends of his fingers and bare feet, his nails all tinted in a deep red color. All of it contrasted heavily with his pale skin tone and softly colored locks of hair which swayed just the smallest bit with the light breeze sweeping through the woods, offset even further by the reddened pearls ensnared around his ankles.

It was an odd thought, but the combination of his natural colors was a pleasant one. It was a strange sentence which floated in her mind for several moments because of how bizarre it actually was.

She supposed if she would give herself up to a demon, she would rather he didn’t look as terrifying as they come.

At the very least, there was something soothing about the softness in his palette. It almost felt like he belonged in this landscape, really, jumping out of the scenery like a painting in a black and white book.

“This is a surprise,” His rough, masculine voice broke through the silence, causing for the woman’s eyes to shift sharply to the back of the demon’s head. “You Slayers sure are interesting. Coming after me in my own domain like this? Can’t say you’re very good at sneaking up on the enemy, though. Might want to work on that.” He remarked, noticeably disinterested.

Why would he be interested? He didn’t even need to look at the Slayer to know they were weak. Their sounds of struggle as they traversed the fallen trees behind them told him all he needed to know. He had never been interested in fighting weakened opponents. Where was the fun in that? No, he wanted a challenge. Always seeking a new rival to combat and train with for years to come.

It’s a shame those damn Hashiras never chose to turn.

They really would’ve made the centuries so much more fun.

“I’m not interested in facing off, if that’s what you came here for.” He blatantly remarked. “You’re not worth the time, I already know that. If you want to pick a fight, have at it with any of the others in the woods, human.” With that, he readied his fighting stance once more, just as he had prepped himself with earlier. A few seconds after, quick as lightning, he struck the tree directly in front of him with his fist. No sound of effort emitted from him, but the mighty cedar fell backwards with agonized creaks and shatters from the single strike.

She, once again, flinched from the sound of the fall, her eyes turning to look at the defeated cedar before turning back to Akaza once more. A part of her was somewhat surprised that he didn’t care that a human was standing behind him as a perfectly easy target, but another part reckoned that might have been to be expected from someone of his prowess.

It simply reaffirmed the facts she already knew to be true.

For a moment, she didn’t know what to do next. Something in her hadn’t expected to make it this far. She had been convinced, in the back of her mind, that the night would end with her devoured by some random lesser demon in the woods before she could ever hope to stumble upon Akaza. Somehow, someway, fate had listened to her begging and delivered, but now that she found him, what exactly was she supposed to do? Wasn’t this supposed to be as easy as she always envisioned it to be? Wasn’t handing herself over to a demon supposed to quickly fall into the same pattern of blood, violence and gore?

Another tree fell in the midst of her thoughts, this time vanquished by a curt kneeing from the demon. This time, she didn’t flinch, stuck in her head, her eyes focused on the markings on the back of Akaza’s neck.

“You’re still here.” He remarked with a deep sigh, annoyance laced in his tone as he straightened to stand up tall. “Why are you still here? You’re no challenge to me. I assume you got business with me, but let’s be real here, you and I both know how things will end if you really want to try, little Slayer.”

“I…I-I do. That’s why I’m here…” She finally found her voice, deciding she would follow the flow life decided to toss her way right now.

Akaza’s entire demeanor shifted at the sound of her. He startled in place, stiffening from the unexpected feminine voice which carried itself so dimly through the breeze. By instinct, he had assumed the Slayer whom came to so (stupidly) boldly stand before him was a man looking for a fight. He had made a few short guesses in the moment he had spoken to her, wondering if maybe it had been someone from the Corps come to avenge someone he had taken down. He wouldn’t have been surprised; it’s happened before. Nevertheless, he certainly did not expect a woman to approach him for battle tonight.   

Slowly, he turned on his heels, his odd, golden hued gaze, marked by the beast, coming to meet with hers. It didn’t take him long to take in the state she was in and to guess she was in no condition to put up any kind of fight, let alone with him if that’s really what she came out here to achieve. She had a noticeably heavy limp, most of her body weight balanced on her left foot. Her facial expression looked worn, spent and drained of all energy. Her Nichirin sword, a blade lethal to demons like him, remained sheathed at her side and she showed zero interest in pulling it out in any form of defense. Her uniform was one he was all too familiar with, having already guessed she was a Slayer long before he ever came to face her because of the distinctive scent of the cloth and the sound of her blade hitting her leg with each move she made.

Despite the roughened exterior, she was extremely feminine. A woman in all forms of the word. Her face was full, cheeks lusciously round with large doe eyes adored by long, fluttering lashes. Her lips, though pulled into a desperate frown due to the state she was in, were plush and pink, lightly pursed with the face she was making. Her hair was thick and tinted in (hair color) which shimmered in the light from the moon he had allowed entrance into the forest within their plain. Her uniform consisted of a knee-length skirt and the typical top he was accustomed to seeing on the Slayers, though it definitely filled out more with the curves of her womanly figure, the color of her legs contrasting heavily from her attire as well.

A woman. He thought to himself, dumbly.

He remained silent, completely taken aback by this predicament. He simply stared at the woman with his widened dual-colored eyes, trying to figure her out from where he stood.

“I know I’m no challenge for you,” She eventually spoke up again, her voice quiet, just there for him to hear. “I know you could…so easily do away with me…You could just…j-just end it all in a second if you wanted to, really…” She muttered, trailing off for a moment as her gaze shifted to the side despondently. “But that’s why I’m here. I…I-I don’t want to put up a fight…” Her gaze shifted back to look him in the eye, her composure quickly faltering and falling as she, quite literally, stared death in the face.

“I want you to kill me…Do what you will, eat me or just do it for the sport of it, b-but…kill me…”

Tears were beginning to surface in her eyes now, quickly blurring her vision before overflowing down the curve of her cheeks. All the while, her expression fell with them, her lips pulling into agonized whimpers as she forced the words out of her raw throat.

“I-I don’t want to be alive anymore,” She openly sobbed at the demon, a creature she knew wouldn’t care, but letting out the thoughts that had been screaming in her head for so long to anyone who would listen was better than letting them die in her head with her. “I d-don’t deserve to be alive, s-so just do it…Do it…!” She was sobbing now, her knees buckling heavily, causing for her sword to clatter loudly at her side. Out of desperation, she reached out to tightly grip at the demon’s loose haori in both of her fists, her legs finally giving out from underneath her.

Just like the mighty cedar, she collapsed with a loud thud that caused her world to quake, and through her blurred vision, she stared up at the man who would finish the job to let moonlight shine through when she was gone.

“K-kill me, take away my breath, wipe me out of existence! P-please, just make it stop! M-make the pain stop! I should’ve died ages ago, but I’m here and it isn’t fair! I don’t deserve to be here! Please, p-please…! I came to you myself, o-on a silver platter, it w-would be so…s-so easy to make it all end here tonight…! PLEASE! DEVOUR ME!” She pulled tightly on his haori, her eyes never leaving his in her pathetic state. She pleaded with him in all ways she thought she could, hoping to elicit some excitement and thrill of the kill in the powerful demon she clung to.

Anything to make the pain stop.

Anything to do away with the agony.

Anything to make the nightmare end.

Anything to stop the loneliness and guilt.

Anything to get what she so rightfully deserved.

Akaza, in turn, stared down at the human woman feeling an uncomfortable sense of foggy nostalgia. It wasn’t in the things she was saying or the desperation in her pleading, but from the tears and the hopeless look in her eyes. There was something…there. It was just out of reach in his mind, tickling his memories, whispering to him of times that never came to be nor came to exist. Yet, the nostalgia still rang.

Why did the nostalgia ring?

He didn’t know, so he continued to stare at the young woman, at a loss on how to react or respond. He made no move to touch her, simply looking down at her with an unreadable expression which more so teetered in the direction of bewilderment. After a moment’s consideration, he raised his hands hesitantly, confused on what he was supposed to do about the sobbing woman who now lowered her head deeply towards her chest as her body curled closer to the ground. Her arms remained outstretched above her, clinging to his haori as she openly cried her tears into the grassy ground of the woods.

He thought about removing her hands from his haori, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. His hands lingered just above hers, his tainted fingers slightly trembling with indecisive energy, but he couldn’t bring himself to place them on hers to pry her off of him. In all his years of living as a demon, he had never had anyone so desperately seek him out to kill them like this. In battle, sure, when his opponent was mangled yet conscious enough to feel it all, but never so forward, out of the blue nor on purpose like this.

His lips parted with the attempt of speech, but no sound came from him. His mouth simply remained slightly agape before coming to a close a few seconds afterwards. The woman’s sobs had grown louder now, letting everything out she had buried within, and the sound of her heartbreak and loss of a will to go on caused for him to feel an incredible sense of growing unease and discomfort.

Was it pity he felt? He didn’t know, but he definitely felt something through this moral code of his.

Despite her distraught and the odd sensation it caused to bubble in him, Akaza had still caught on to the stirring of life in the woods around them. The sound of the woman must have caught the attention of the demons nearby. Did they really think it was such a good idea to encroach in his space? Apparently, at least one of them did. His eyes darted to the left as it shifted fast through the foliage before leaping out a second after in a bellowing flash of mindless hunger.

The sound of its heavy footsteps and soul-shattering bellow reached her viciously, jarring her in place as her eyes widened to stare at the ground beneath them through her constant tears. She only had seconds left to look up and see the beast that was running towards the two of them on all fours, all sense of sanity completely lost from the monstruous maw it held outstretched and salivating for her flesh.

Its fingers dug deeply into the ground each time its palms slammed onto it, booming repeatedly like massive drums straight out of the deepest depths of Hell. Its skin was covered in bulging, bright red blisters, pulsing and shifting with its savagely brusque movements. When its feet propelled it forward, it caused the fallen trees in its way to scatter wildly on either side of its massive rampaging form, slamming into the sides of the standing cedars near its position. It had three eyes – two where you expected them to be, and the third on its forehead, all of which stared wildly ahead of it. It sunk and registered in her the moment she saw them that its sights were primarily set on her, the only human in the forest, frail and vulnerable like a newborn lamb with a broken ankle left for dead.

Plan B was literally stomping towards her at the speed of sound and brutally forcing itself into her reality, whether she wanted it to or not.

In those split seconds before the collision, Akaza had moved before either of the two could notice. He had found the nerve in him to push her hands off of his haori for the sole purpose of planting his feet wide and strong on the ground in front of her. The sound of the earth cracking beneath his soles filled the air as his face morphed to one of sickened anger and his breath steadily left him through his nostrils. His hands moved so quick, their figures seemingly disappeared into thin air until they came to grapple onto one of the charging, deranged demon’s reaching arms. Without flinching, he lifted the massive creature into the air with little effort, the veins in his muscular arms bulging underneath his skin as he turned and slammed the beast into the cemetery of fallen cedar beside himself and the woman at his feet. A massive crater formed beneath its bulky, writhing body when it landed, the impact forcing the shattering of the earth beneath them to deepen and worsen dramatically.

With ease, he tugged strongly on the demon’s arm until it riiipped and tore from its socket. The atmosphere filled with its ear-shattering screech as blood splattered through the air with his curt yank of its enormous arm, but Akaza was unconvinced. He tossed the dismembered appendage into the woods as the beast roared in outrage and began to stand itself up, but before it could get itself very far, he had stomped his foot down ruthlessly on its chest, crushing bones beneath its skin from the force of the leisure blow. He pushed and pushed until the struggling monstruous being was buried in crackling earth. Meanwhile, its remaining arm attempted to reach for him and the woman while the other slowly began to regenerate at the bloodied stub. Promptly, Akaza gripped at its wrist, his fist crushing the bones in the demon’s arm as he, once again, ripped it from its socket as easy as ripping a paper in two.

“You’re new,” He let out in a low, husky, rough tone, eyes wide and staring into the mindlessly violent gaze the demon stared back into his as its own blood steadily began to pool in its crater. “So, I guess your stupidity in thinking you can rush into my space to take something from me is something you can do without an issue makes sense – but that isn’t the case anymore, is it?” He cocked his head to the side, raising his foot and stomping it back down onto the struggling, incoherent demon beneath him. Its bellows had never stopped from the moment Akaza had pinned it to the ground, the sound rattling the foundation of the forest, but it didn’t affect the Upper Moon in any way other than through annoyance and rage.

“I should give you a warning,” He mused, tutting as his foot stomped into the beast once again, forcing its chest to cave in on itself, blood pooling much faster in its crater; a morbid puddle of grotesque proportions. “Let you off with a tap on the wrist,” He reached down, eyes widening up further as the frown on his face deepened when his hand came to grip at the demon’s scraggly head of hair. It came off as though it had been a man before it was turned, and naturally, that made it even more enraging to him. Roughly, he tugged on the demon’s hair, forcing it to raise its head to properly look at him in the midst of its feral, bloody struggles. “That sounds fair, doesn’t it? Maybe I would have if it had just been me. Maybe I wouldn’t have thought twice about you. Maybe I would have let you scurry off without a second thought – but it’s not just me, is it? No, it isn’t. You came out here and charged at her, didn’t you?” He nodded his head, answering his own question as he reached down with his free hand to grip onto the beast’s jaw which hung wide at its snapping, open maw.

“Yeah, you did.”

Mercilessly, his grip tightened on its jaw and yaaanked backwards, tearing the bone and flesh right off of its skull in his iron grip. “You wanted to attack her, didn’t you? Eat her alive? Swallow her whole? Alleviate that disgusting salivation dripping from your mouth? Can’t say I’m surprised, but really,” He laughed humorlessly, tossing the bloodied jaw in his hand into the forest. “You should seriously know better with me here.” Pulling his bloodied foot out of the demon’s concaved chest, Akaza let out a heated breath and scowled deeply. “You sicken me. I hope your regeneration is quick,” He remarked, looking towards the stubs of the demon’s arms and the unnatural groove in its chest where his foot had once been. They were yet to heal, leading him to believe its regenerative abilities were not that strong. A lesser demon in all regards. “You’re gonna need it. Now,” He reached down and grabbed at its twisting body, listening to the gurgled sounds it produced with the lack of a lower jaw. Lifting the beast into the air on both of his hands, Akaza planted his feet firmly on the ground once more, facing the forest ahead.

“Get the hell out of my sight!”

With a mighty heave, he sent the demon hurtling forward through the air, quickly colliding with a path of cedars, easily smashing right through several rows of the thick, ancient trees long before the beast came to a brutal stop a good distance away. Akaza maintained his readied fighting stance, bringing his hands to the ready in front of him in case the demon was senseless enough to look for an actual fight.

It seemed that the beast was smarter than he thought, though, because as soon as it landed, it scrambled on its pathetically bubbling limbs before rushing into the forest to disappear in the dark.

After that, the world plunged into silence once more.

Not even the sound of insects minding their business in their microscopic world could be heard.

The young woman stared up at the Upper Moon’s back with a widened, horrified gaze. She was a crumpled heap on the forest floor, completely at this demon’s mercy, and the spectacle he had shown the Plan B demon was something that caused ice to crystalize through her veins. If he could be that vicious to one of his own kind, what’s to say he wouldn’t be equally as cruel with her? What’s to say he wouldn’t toy with her and inflict as much pain on her as he could just to watch her writhe and cry until he eventually got fed up with her enough to let her die? He was enraged so easily, so quickly…How would it feel? To have his strong hands wrap his ink-dipped fingers around her extremities similarly to how his pearls ensnared his ankles until he crushed her bones? To have him stomp down on her until parts of her caved in? To have him hurtle her through bark and cedar until she was nothing but a mess of human flesh and blood being soaked up by the soil?

She came to Akaza for a quick, painless death – but had she miscalculated?

Would a lesser demon like the one he just pulverized into submission have been more merciful?

Will a confrontation with him be unbelievable agony?

Would she feel every single thing he did to her until the life seeped out of her, or would adrenaline sink in and numb some of the pain by the time things got that bad?

The tears started flowing again, dripping down her chin and clinging to her eyelashes until she blinked them away. Her body started trembling violently as Akaza straightened to stand normally once more. When he turned to face her, a pitiful whimper forced itself out of her lips, her instincts making her kick her heels into the dirt to push her a few feet away from him uselessly.

COWARD, COWARD, COWARD! THE OTHERS HAD IT A MILLION TIMES WORSE THAN YOU! FACE YOUR FATE! ACCEPT THE CONSEQUENCES YOU SO RIGHTFULLY DESERVE!

When he started walking towards her, easily stepping over the carnage of blood and cedar, her heart sank for the millionth time tonight. It was happening. It was finally happening. He was going to heed to her request. He was going to give her what she came to him for – whether it was for better or for worse. Her crying came out broken and choppy now, her chest quickly puffing in and out from how hard it was for her to maintain a composed breath. When he was standing right in front of her, she shut her eyes tightly and allowed her head to hang low again, her shoulders heaving as she waited for the inevitable.

Several long, agonizingly slow seconds passed where nothing happened. She felt nothing, sensed nothing, heard nothing. She didn’t know what was scarier – the actual act of the kill or the anticipation for the blow that was to come. She supposed it wouldn’t matter either way soon enough.

The sound of crinkling leaves is what first broke the silence. The sound of movement. It was abrupt and didn’t last very long, but it was there and it was definitely caused by Akaza. Then, all of a sudden, in the dark of her tightly blocked vision, she felt his hands gently brushing his fingers along her wet cheeks until her face was cupped in a pair of roughly calloused, warm palms slickened with blood. A moment after, the feeling of his thumbs brushing her skin and painting it red tantalized her senses, causing for the eruption of gooseflesh to spread all over her arms. Despite the morbidity of it, the gesture from the demon somehow felt so…gentle. Soft. Tender. Almost…kind.

Could that even be real? Could that seriously even happen? A kind demon? A demon kind towards a human?

She knew of Nezuko’s existence, but from her vague understanding of the circumstances, she was a special case.

Akaza was in an entirely different category all on his own, not to mention his ranking with the twelve Kizuki.

No, this kind touch has to be a cruel joke…His palms, rough-skinned from his training and stained crimson from his brief, sadistic fight, cupping her tear-stricken face with this level of…compassion? Comfort? She didn’t even know how to label the feeling, but it was definitely something she had never envisioned herself labeling upon a demon’s touch.

Was he toying with her? Giving her a false sense of safety before he’d rip her head clean off of her body the way the Slayers’ blades cleanly sliced those of the demons off of theirs? After all, through the touches, she still felt that blood being caressed softly on her face, a cold and honest reminder of what exactly she was dealing with. Though the thought terrified her of the unknown oblivion which waited beyond living, curiosity bested her fear and willed her to open her eyes to look upon the world one last time.

Before her, Akaza had gotten on his knees to better stare down onto her frightened expression with a look of perplexed curiosity of his own. She struck what felt like olden memories in his head by the way she cried and sniveled. The sound strummed cords in him he didn’t know existed, long since dissolved in a past he couldn’t be entirely sure was once reality or something his dreams came up with when he rested in refuge away from the light of day – and now, as he gently stroked the skin of her face out of his own curious nature, the feeling brought other unknown instincts to life in him.

It had always been his moral code not to involve himself with human women. He wasn’t to fight with nor eat any of them, because that was simply the way he chose to live his life. It was a moral code he fiercely followed – what first brought it upon him, he wasn’t so sure. When he looked at the Slayer before him now, however, the image of her crying, frightened state answered a few of his questions in choppy phrases. Nothing linked quite well just yet, but he knew from the look of her that she came off…defenseless. He knew there had to be something strong in her by human standards, of course, that would amount to her becoming a Demon Slayer, but it was more than that. It was just…something else he couldn’t put his finger on. A strong desire to save the life she was so desperate to throw away.

Why would I want to do something like that? His brow furrowed slightly at the thought, his perplexed expression deepening. I don’t know you. You’re just some random human woman who stumbled into me with a ridiculous request. Why would I care? If you were anyone else – any other man I’d faced – I would have ended you on the spot…but there’s something in your eyes. Something…there.

But it was gone before he could grasp it in his mind. The memory dissipated like dust, drifting into the dark of his subconscious, leaving him only with the woman in front of him to make sense of the strange, growing protective feeling he had swelling in his chest.

“No.”

“…N…N-no…?” She repeated meekly, her voice forced out of her throat in a cautious, shaken tremble.

“No, I won’t kill you.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion and her lips parted, taken aback, surprised by the sudden answer to what she had begged him for. She stared at him for numerous, silent moments through the blurring tears in her eyes, unable to shake off just how bizarre that sentence sounded coming from a demon’s lips. Any demon would’ve leaped at the easy catch she came to offer tonight – one of which quite literally did. She had been completely positive that Akaza would have been similar. Maybe not as mindless nor deranged, but she had been convinced he would’ve reveled in the chance to play with easy prey. So…

“W-why not…?”

Akaza didn’t respond. He simply stared at her, one of his bloodied hands sliding further back on her cheek to allow his fingers to weave through her (hair color) locks. His striking dual-colored eyes practically stared right into her soul from how intently he observed and drank her in.

“Relax,” He spoke in a soft murmur. “I won’t hurt you.”

As the words left him, he pulled his hand back from her hair and stiffened it tightly, fingers straightened, before bringing it down firmly over the back of her neck.  

She barely had a moment to really register what had just happened. The only thing she was able to notice in those few seconds before she lost consciousness was the powerful blow to her neck and the gentleness in the demon’s eyes. After that, the world slipped out from under her, gravity taking its toll and greedily pulling her towards its core. Akaza, however, caught her against his chest, having brought his arms down to wrap them around her waist so he could properly hold her to his larger figure. For a moment, he just held her, staring at the forest floor as his bloodied hands stained her uniform and her head lulled onto his shoulder. Again, there was something there. Something poking at his subconscious. Knocking at the door of his mind, cooing at him in seductive whispers to open up, but the door disappeared as soon as he attempted to reach out to let it in.

He turned his head to look at the woman in his grip and he squeezed her in closer to himself. This human woman felt…soft all over to hold. Warm. Plush. It was something he was unused to in contrast to his rigorous training, finely toned physique and all of the battles and missions he had been sent on over the course of the centuries he’s lived through. She was the complete polar opposite of everything he knew, really.

Not wanting to dwell too long in the confusing thoughts, he shook his head clear of them, bringing his focus back to the here and now. He stood up with her in his arms, shifting her in his grasp until he had her cradled in both of his arms up against his chest with her head resting on his bicep. Once he carefully settled her in, he began walking deeper into the forest of whispering cedar.

Any other demon would’ve devoured her on the spot, but he had no such desire.

For now, he had to get her the hell out of the forest to start saving her life.

Saving her life…What a strange thing for a demon to consider.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you so very much for making it this far! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter to my fic! c: I appreciate it tons and I hope you're all doing well on your ends of the world and that you guys have loving support systems <3 Much love and hugs, God bless you all! \nwn/ <3

[kopfkino-o]

The Seer’s Stone: An Fanfic Preview

Hi friends! I’ve been working towards writing my own fantasy series for nearly two years now, but have found fanfiction to be such an amazing outlet for growing myself as a writer and am so so excited to share some experts from my upcoming Elriel fanfaction I’ve been working on! It’s very much still in the works but I’m so stoked about it so I wanted to share some of my favorite experts. I hope to have some of the first few chapters out ahead of Elriel week, buuuut I’m a super slow writer so please be patient if you care to follow along!

(PSA: This if my first fic I’m publishing and always want to grow in my work so please feel free to give me any suggestions, editing tips, etc etc. I love constructive criticism)

Thank you for taking the time to read!

Summary: Elain Archeron is tired of being the “lovely, sweet gardener” everyone wants her to be. After losing her beloved, her humanity, her life, she’s ready to claim her own path forward with the help of her friends, Nuala and Cerridwen, as she searches far and wide for the mysterious Seer’s Stone: an ancient artifact of old rumored to once belong to an ancient Seer Queen. But will fate itself step in to stop her? Or will Elain defy the strings of destiny that bind her and forge her own path forward, choosing her own fate, friendships, future, and love, along the way. 

Word Count: 711

Timeline: Post-ACOSF

Pairing: Elain x Azriel (with Lucien x Vassa hints)

I. (From Chapter One)

Elain Archeron slipped down the back alleys and side streets of Velaris on silent feet, the pale sliver of moon the only witness to her midnight movements, the low hum of summer insects her only companions. The scrying stones in her pocket rattled softly with each step and her newly acquired dagger–a gift from the twins–wrapped gently against her hip. 

Nesta would freak out if she ever saw me with these, Elain thought to herself as she followed the flow of the Sidra through the city. Feyre and Rhys too. 

A pang of guilt bloomed in her chest. 

The dagger was one thing, but her being out, alone, at this hour was a whole other. Especially when both her sisters no doubt expected her to be back at the Riverhouse, tucked safely in bed.

She knew it was wrong to keep this new part of her life from them, but something stopped her each time Elain considered telling Nesta or Feyre about her evening. Whether it was her better judgment, or simple commonsense, Elain didn’t know. She knew they would understand, would welcome this new “hobby” of hers even, and yet… she couldn’t bring herself to tell them. 

Not because she didn’t trust Feyre or Nesta, but because they wouldn’t understand. No one understood. 

Elain was breathless by the time she reached the city mance tucked away on a sleepy street only a few blocks off the water. Thick tangles of ivy crept up the sides of dark-stone façade and golden candle light glowed behind the panes of crystal windows. 

She swept up the front steeps graceful as a shadow, dark cloak stirring behind her, and knocked once on the worn rosewood.

A silence, then the lock clicked and the door creaked open. 

Nuala’s beautiful face appeared in the shadowed doorway. The wraith’s full lips pulled up into a pleased smile. “About time.” 

“I couldn’t get away any earlier. It would have been too weird.” 

Her friend pulled her into a tight hug, the wraith’s familiar scent of evening mist and spiced amber wrapping around her. “Well, you’re here now. Everything is ready, Cerridwen and the others are inside.”

“And Desmaya?” 

“She said she would come, didn’t she?” 

“I’m sorry, I just wasn’t–” 

Nuala held up a hand. “What did we say about apologizing? No one is mad at you, Lainey.” 

Elain nodded once. Right, no more apologizing unless she absolutely needed to. It was something she was still trying to work, an old habit she was trying to break. She found it easier to do so around her friends, but old habits died hard and life back at the Riverhouse made her feel like she was…regressing. 

She felt a sense of guilt for even daring to think so in the first place. Feyre had done so much, had given so much. Rhys and Cassian and Nesta too. Lying to them felt like a betrayal, an insult to all they had done for her. 

Elain shook her head, exhaling a nervous breath before following the half-wraith into the semi-dark of the entry hall.

II. 

“The shadows tell me when you lie, you know.” Azriel said. 

Elain cocked her head. “Is that all they tell you, Shadowsinger?”

III. 

The dark void of his magic yawned open. He let himself plummet into it. Shadows whispered around him, swelling and ebbing as the familiar cold of the shade between realms rose up to swallow him whole. 

And then—

Silence, darkness. He was nothing here, he was everything here. A hundred pieces of him thrown into the Void, a hundred pieces scattered wide. 

IV

“I don’t know how to be good. I don’t know how to make my pain beautiful, I don’t know how to make my anger kind,” Azriel seethed, “They gave me a knife when all I needed was a friend, they made me into a weapon and told me not to weep. How do you come back from that? How do you find your absolution?” 

Cassian merely put a warm hand on his shoulder, his brother’s eyes filled with an understanding that nearly broke him. 

V

Nesta grabbed her wrist. “Then you will die.” 

Elain pulled herself free, her chin still held high. “I’m getting him back.” 

[magical-mistakes-vm]

4

"Listen here, little witch, I think you know exactly who and what I am." Suddenly the air around them seemed to hum and vibrate. Vollrath’s face became a mask of rage, his eyes hard, and voice cold.  The distance between them was closed in a mere step, his head tilting to look down at her, his gaze even more intense and intimidating than they had been at any time up to that point.  Mahala didn't flinch, her exterior hiding her instant regret at provoking him and her inability to move. "Do you really want to start a confrontation with me right here and now?  I would consider your answer very carefully.  Remember where you are and the mistakes you almost made in the forest on MY land.  Once you summoned your mother, how would you contain her? How would you vanquish her back to the other side of the veil? What would happen if another spirit showed up? Were you ready for any of that?  So, again, do you really want to take me on?" 

Through all he said, the volume of Vollrath’s voice did not raise.  His tone made the Arctic Circle seem like a tropical vacation, but he did not yell.  He'd also, at some point, taken her hand again. The action had been so smooth that she had not even noticed until he had stopped speaking. Why he had done it was once more a mystery to her, this man was so confusing!

Mahala wasn't sure how she didn't run from the room like a scared mouse being chased by a lion. In that moment, Vollrath’s rage had him appearing as if he was a lethal predator and it shook her to her core.  From somewhere she found the fortitude to stand her ground.  Within her chest, the beating of her heart threatened to break ribs to free itself, and her lungs felt too constricted to allow full breath, yet she still remained on her feet. 

After almost a full moment of silence, Mahala gave Vollrath a reply, the tick that had started in his jaw indicating his already foul mood was further deteriorating.  "I know that I made a mistake considering the ritual to summon my mother, you don't have to remind me.  That doesn't mean I'm a slave or captive to be ordered around like I do not have free will, Vollrath."  She closed her mouth before her voice started to shake.  She'd made it that far sounding confident, best to keep it that way.  

"I consider you neither." He leaned in closer, his hazel eyes almost seeming to glow in the dim light.  Still his voice was calm and quiet, but his demeanor was less intimidating.  "You are an untrained witch with a great deal of wild power who is currently under my protection.  If I let you leave without at least a couple basic protection spells, information on how to contact me, and some basic discussion on what you are and how hunters will find you, do you think you would be safe?" His voice was smooth and almost too calm for how rattled Mahala felt.  Just as he finished speaking Vollrath’s thumb swept the back of her hand and he squeezed very gently.  He would have done more, but given how keyed up she was, he preferred not being slapped or more.  Everything would come in time, he could feel the ancients and ancestors working.

Mahala knew that there was something he’d done with the caress of the back of her hand, but she didn’t know what.  She could feel herself relaxing, her breathing easing, and her heart calming, even if her emotions were still a tempest.  "What are you doing?" Her voice was quiet and sounded small as her eyes searched his like they held some answer that she would be able to discern.  He somewhat frightened her and what he had just said reminded her just how dangerous he was, and also how much she needed him at the moment. 

Unshed tears sparkled in her whiskey eyes, reflecting in the dim light coming in from the hallway to the mudroom they were currently standing in, there was no way Vollrath could miss them.  His free hand rose to gently lay against her cheek, trying to comfort the upset he had caused.  There was something about the witch that made him feel possessive and protective over her in a way he did towards none other under his purview.  It was hard for him not to draw her into a comforting embrace to try to sooth her. Everything he normally avoided was what he wanted to do, with her.

"You might not like my style, Mahala, but I am trying to help you.  I need you to listen and work with me.  Sometimes that may mean I have to do things you don’t like to get your attention.  You are safe with me, always.  That , I promise." His eyes met hers evenly as he spoke.  If she ran, he would have to chase her.  If she fought, he would be forced to restrain her.  If she'd just work with him, he could keep her safe and alive. “Do not make me be harsh with you, it is not what I want.  I'd prefer to help calm and comfort you as we do this.”  He hated scaring her which was unusual, normally he gave not one single fuck.

Once more his fingers slid into her hair to pull her gently forward to press a soft kiss to the middle of her forehead for the second time of the night.  As he did, he heard her exhale a stuttered breath and felt her trembling fingers rest against his chest.  Maybe she was starting to trust him.  Maybe this could work if he could also control his own temper, a small feet in its own right. 

"Why do you do that?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.  She didn't want to challenge him, but she did want to know.  Mahala found that for some reason she liked it when he did, but it made no sense that he did it.

"Does it bother you?" He tilted his head so he could match her volume, his lips now brushing the curve of her ear as he spoke. Why did he wish his lips to be on her skin, to find hers?  He ached for it. His mind already playing over the scenarios in which he could further contact.

Very slightly her head shook, the contact with him sending vibrations over her skin and giving her chills.  Not only was he very powerful, he was devastatingly and darkly handsome, a combination that was giving her totally inappropriate butterflies at the moment.  His small shows of affection were part of her confusion regarding the whole situation.

"No, I would just like to know the reason." Mahala got enough control of her breathing and voice to ask.

A slow smile formed on his lips as he began to answer her, "you are very special, little witch.  More powerful than you realize. You have me captivated and draw me to you in ways I have yet to fully understand. I feel the need to personally see to your protection, training, and education. I want you to trust me, Mahala." Vollrath, to his credit, was honest.  He didn't mention he normally did not kiss women anywhere, even in romantic settings or that he would gladly do more if she'd allow, but he felt he'd given her enough information for the moment.   This was especially true since he had no idea why he craved her so.  

On Mahala’s part, his answer did nothing to quell those butterflies she was already feeling.  Without realizing it, her fingers had gripped the fabric of his shirt.  "I will trust you, Vollrath, unless you give me a reason not to." Before she could think better of it, she turned her head slightly and left an ever so soft kiss on his cheek right next to the corner of his mouth.

Mahala Codona was going to be the death of him, Vollrath was quite sure.  If she didn't frustrate him by making him want to throttle her, she was going to cause him to want to end the world to keep her safe.  And those petal soft lips that had just caressed his cheek, they became a whole new temptation of their own; which had him doubting his own sanity. 

[veiledmary]

the pale afternoon sun filtered through the twisted, gnarled branches of the old oaks that stood like sentinels around the cemetery. long, golden rays of light broke through the canopy, casting shadows that stretched across the weathered gravestones, their inscriptions faded and forgotten by time. the soft rustle of wind whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the faint, familiar scent of damp earth and decaying flowers. it was quiet here—a kind of stillness that only the dead seemed to understand.

at the base of an ancient stone angel, its wings chipped and moss-covered, mary bennett sat cross-legged, her sketchbook balanced delicately on her lap. her pale fingers moved gracefully across the paper, tracing the shape of something that had only just come into focus—a shadowed figure, half-formed and elusive, lingering at the edge of her vision. every so often, her brow furrowed, and she would glance up, emerald eyes scanning the cemetery's mist-draped pathways, as though trying to catch sight of what she was drawing in full.

the figure wasn’t there—not in any tangible sense. but she felt it. Its presence lingered, cold and heavy like the chill in the autumn air. her hand worked quickly, almost on its own, capturing the spirit’s form—tall, distant, a face obscured in darkness, the lines of its body twisting and bending unnaturally.

mary’s lips parted, and a breath escaped her, a misty exhale in the cooling air. the atmosphere had changed, a deeper cold settling around her as if the ground itself had shifted. she felt the faint pull of the spirit, the weight of its unfinished story pressing on her shoulders, the sorrow that clung to it like fog.

as her graphite pencil swept across the page, she lost herself in the process, unaware of how deeply she had been drawn into this haunting presence. her gaze softened, her body still except for the rhythmic strokes of her hand. she didn’t notice the shifting shadows around her, didn’t hear the distant crunch of footsteps approaching her from behind.

her focus was entirely on the sketch—the way the lines of the figure seemed to writhe, to resist being captured. there was a sadness in it, something unresolved, a cry for help without words. her heart clenched, the familiar sensation of being drawn too close to the edge of another's pain, the weight of it making her breath catch in her throat.

just as she felt the familiar cold brush of a spirit moving past her, something shifted—something that didn’t belong to the world of the dead. she felt a chill along her porcelain skin, and a sudden awareness washed over her.

she wasn’t alone.

her hand stilled, the pencil pausing mid-stroke as she slowly lifted her gaze from the page, eyes narrowing slightly as she scanned the surrounding gravestones. the cemetery was still, but the air felt charged, alive in a way that only happened when someone else entered the space—someone living.

mary exhaled softly, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, listening.

“are you here for them... or for me?” she murmured, her voice low, soft, almost too quiet for the wind to carry. her question hung in the air, waiting for an answer.

[your-good-pal-chevy]

Swordtember : 25 : Prism

Lionel and Kalliste stood with their backs to each other. Trapped within the Imperial ruins, they did not know from which direction their foe would strike.

"You know," Lionel said, "At the very least, things could be worse."

Kalliste let out a weak chuckle. "I'm not sure how."

"At least there's light down here," Lionel said, "And I know, I know, that makes this the part where all the torches and candles and such are snuffed out."

Lionel gestured with his sword, thrusting it toward a nearby candelabra. "Now!" He paused there a moment, watching the candles burn, before returning to his previous stance. "Alright, I guess we're not in that kind of tale."

Kalliste chuckled again, in spite of herself. "Now is hardly the time for jokes."

"I know, I know," Lionel said, "But you know me, can hardly keep my trap shut at the best of times."

A cold breeze swept through that ancient ruin, chilling them both to the bone. A whisper followed it, as if carried on its winds, some rasping voice muttering in an unknown tongue.

"Be ready," Kalliste whispered. She turned to face the doorway that breeze came from, her falx held in a high guard. Lionel raised his shield, putting himself between Kalliste and the darkness beyond.

A long, thin arm reached out from the shadows. Wrapped in linen and covered in golden bangles, it terminated in a clawlike hand that slowly went through the motions of several arcane gestures.

Lionel and Kalliste watched the hand for a moment, fear gripping their hearts, unsure of how to approach. Then, Lionel sensed something, and he immediately threw up his shield.

The mummified hand suddenly splayed, a beam of putrid light emanating from its palm. Its magic lanced across the room, the lights flickering as it passed by.

Lionel took the brunt of the beam on his shield, the wood blackening and warping under its assault. He was pushed back by the force of it, but Kalliste was able to step out of the way. Kalliste rushed forward, swinging her falx at the hand.

The hand retreated into the shadows. Before Kalliste could press the advantage, however, the being it was attached to emerged. It bulled into Kalliste, knocking her over as it charged into the room.

It was massive. Nearly a head taller than Lionel, a huge and lanky form wrapped in linen bandages. Its head, appearing shrunken on its huge body, was browned with the passage of untold centuries. Its eyes burned a pale green, twin stars trailing through the dim light. It floated a hair's breadth of the ground, its clawed feet trailing on the stones below it.

It pointed at Lionel, uttering some unknown challenge in its ancient tongue.

"Yeah, I don't speak that," Lionel said, huddling behind his shield. He twirled the Sword of Stars in his hand, anticipating the worst.

And the being stopped. It stared at the sword, its dry lips pulling back to reveal a mouth full of fangs. It slowly started to shake, hands balling into fists, its rictis falling open to let out a rasping attempt at a roar.

It thrust both hands forward, shooting out another pair of beams at Lionel. He brought his shield up, but the force of the beams threatened to splinter his wooden shield. His legs buckled, and he fell to one knee, pressing on the shield with both hands in an attempt to keep it between himself and that awful light.

Kalliste swung her falx at the monster and it bit deep, but the blade stuck fast and the beast seemed none the worse for it.

Lionel's shield continued to warp, rattling under the assault. The wood began to peel apart, its metal rim and rivets coming loose.

The shield shattered apart and, in that instant, Lionel was certain death would take him.

His hands went up, and had he not been clutching the Sword of Stars in his sword hand, he certainly would have died.

The beams struck the Sword of Stars. It hummed angrily, the beams meeting its edge and splitting apart. Like light passing through a prism, the beams split apart and bored holes into the masonry around the room.

Kalliste cursed loudly, bracing against the monster with one foot to pull her sword loose.

Lionel struggled to his feet, keeping the Sword of Stars between himself and the beams. He pushed forward, the immense pressure splitting apart on the edge of his crystalline blade.

The monster rasped again, no doubt cursing in its own language.

Kalliste brought her falx into its side again, hacking at the same spot she had struck before. The monster wobbled in the air, its power seemingly shaken.

The twin beams from its hands ebbed away, and it careened to the ground.

Lionel did not waste time. He charged the fiend, swinging his sword with both hands.

The monster screamed, an unholy noise echoing through the ruins. Its flesh burned where the Sword of Stars cut it, and it recoiled from the assault.

One of its hands fell to the ground. It shriveled and blackened under the might of the Durands' blade.

The monster thrashed, floating up and smashing into the ceiling, desperate to get away from that holy blade. Kalliste's falx was wrenched from her grip, still stuck in its mummified body. The monster clawed at the stump of its forearm, ripping it from its elbow and tossing it aside as those holy flames consumed it.

"I can hurt it," Lionel muttered, brandishing his sword. "Kalliste! I can hurt it!"

"I see that," she said, pointing at her weapon lodged in its side. "Bastard took my falx!"

"Boost me!" Lionel didn't wait for her to respond, he simply ran toward her, trusting her to understand.

Kalliste blinked in surprise, for a moment unsure, but then she took a wide stance with her hands held low. Lionel jumped forward, pushing off of her hands as she pulled up, and he bounced upward with her help.

Lionel swung his sword again, aiming for the monster's chest, but it anticipated the blow. The monster scrabbled away, pressing itself hard against the ceiling of the room. Lionel's sword missed by a hair, catching the flat of Kalliste's blade and ripping it loose.

The monster, unwilling to continue fighting now that it had been wounded, fled through the another doorway. It disappeared into the shadows beyond.

[okruchlodu]

Yennefer stumbled backwards from the force of her spell as she withdrew her Chaos from the child now slumped over in unnatural sleep, gasping. The Power had filled her like molten lead, pulsating and shimmering in her blood. The air around her, thrummed. She drew a shaky breath, and palmed at the swell of her chest, now heaving with every sharp, short breath as she regained her self composure. The stars in the sky rippled and flickered like stars reflected on the surface of the ocean. The moon, burning in the east, exploded with light.

She felt her throat close up, felt a numbness in her body, frost-cold and aching. She was furiously tired — exhaustion tugging at her frayed edges. There was a streak of blood splattered across her left cheek from the girl's hand, scratches down her neck from holding her down earlier. She shook her head and tossed a startingly violet look upon the Witcher, nodding her agreement, saying only, breathlessly, I know.

A vague glow had arisen on the horizon, far ahead of them, a shimmering, rippling vortex of blinding, unnatural light that seemed to be moving closer and closer with every passing hour. In the abrupt silence that enveloped the woods, Yennefer could sense something dark lurking in the shadows— the dark air around them thick and choking with it: foreboding, malicious. She breathlessly swept her gaze around them, her heart pounding frantically. Lightning sliced the sky, and in its flash the enchantress saw eyes, poison yellow and gleaming, on either side of them, hiding into the woods, laying in wait.

Trust me... Ready the horses — get the child. she decided, feeling gut-wrenching fear swell in her throat. There was no more time to lose: they had already been fighting for days now— she could not tell how many, a week? Mayhaps two. Time flowed differently here, in these woods, where nothing grew or lived but death itself and all its ancient rites and blood. She could sense the shift in the air as Eskel reached for the girl; she could almost taste it in her mouth, that boundless, endless darkness, calling to her, a vast, rippling whirlpool of strange, ancient forces that she could feel reaching for them, as though a knife to the throat. Something was stirring within her blood; reaching its claws and sinking into the body of her magic, that rippling, shimmering veil of Chaos from which she could draw the Force to cast her spells and magic.

A brilliant, powerful spark abruptly shot from her fingers, hand poised in the air like a claw, heat sent forth to crackle and rumble kinetically as she drew from the Force, gasping. Something was blocking the source of the power that was flowing like a stream throughout her veins, but she furiously cut right through it, crying out a spell.  The pendant upon her neck glowed a brilliant, blinding blue, its violent light reflecting in the violet of her eyes, now alight with seething, unbridled power.  Raven black curls flowed around her from the force of her spell, a display of a sorceress determined to get what she was after, enraged and in full power.  

The air around them hissed and rippled, burning furiously, as light began to slice the thick of the night, forming an irregular, flickering oval filled with an iridescent gleam. Something howled in the shadows, and the ground beneath their boots juddered and shook, the little hut upon the hill with it. She heard a window burst and explode from the forces thrumming all around them, heard the horses stomp their hooves violently upon the cold, hard ground, but she sustained the casting, gasping; she cast a brilliantly bright look back over at Eskel, said, now! I cannot hold it! as a malformed, warped portal swirled with fierce ferocity before them, drawing them on; there was something terribly twisted about it, contaminated; but Yennefer, intensely resolute and defiant, pressed on, drawing such vast, immense power from the Force that soon she was trembling under the immensity of its grasp upon her, summoning up every last ounce of it so that she could pierce the magical blockade and sustain the portal long enough for them to step through and out of this world made strange by whatever elusive dark magic was haunting the child.

Afterwards, there was a blinding light and a furious maelstrom, a blast which took her breath away and squeezed her ribs as they were suddenly sucked in with ferocious brutality and spat out onto the middle of a castle, crashing the tables pushed together in the middle of a grand hall where council was being held. Yennefer gasped and shot out her hand, crying out another spell and furiously transmuting the table beneath them into another portal for them to slip through and onwards. It all happened within seconds, a constant stream of boundless energy that sucked and drew them into its violent, swirling vortex. Bitter, frost cold darkness enveloped them, and they were spat out into the middle of a square.

Yennefer collapsed onto her knees, feeling her blood burn ice cold and frozen in her veins. She looked around her frantically, searching for the witcher and the girl. The village was eerily empty, the only sound greeting them, the far away chime of a bell as dawn broke over the skies.

They had at least escaped the woods, but the spell had devoured huge parts of her energy, leaving the sorceress numb and cold all over, her breathing quickened and shallow as she desperately tried to regain her strength so that she might stand.

Something was interfering with the natural currents of Chaos that flowed through the world around them; something was warping the channels through which the power of Elemental Planes permeated the material world, blocking the Force. Yennefer blinked at the child; even sank into slumber, the dark power within her was emanating forcibly. Could she be the cause of this?

She cast her gaze upwards, noticing the fierce, green light glowing ominously overhead,the same strange glow they had seen from the cabin, now dangerously closer. And yet it looked as though it was coming from somewhere far off and away into the distance, hanging over the Continent like a dark veil torn to shreds, pulsing, shimmering darkly. Yennefer stared at it then wordlessly met the witcher's gaze, a meaningful look passing between them despite the vicious ache pounding in her head, blurring her vision.

@wanderingwolfwitcher

Eskel's viper eyes remained trained on the shadowy Shriekers the dark magic had summoned... medallion humming wildly and bouncing against his armor... these were not the ordinary flesh and blood sort... but more like the Wraiths... and the past nights, he'd gotten used to fighting them... and already had years of experience doing so. He met them with rune encrusted silver sword and Signs alike, dancing among their ranks lashing out and striking them one by one, with the raven haired Sorceress pitching in now and again when she could with her own magic. His Yrden Signs ensnared some and blasted others with violet magical lightning, throwing them off to be cut down by his blade. When they fell screaming, their forms dissipated into shadow, and vanished altogether, one after another. Over it all Yennefer worked to keep the possessed child summoning them from escaping... her efforts getting more difficult from the sound of it. Picking up the pace as she requested, he slew the final Shriekers and watched their forms dissipate, the shadows retreating back out into the dark woods surrounding the cabin. With a breath, he spoke up, sheathing his silver sword again and muttering to himself.

"That's the last of the bastards... for now. Need to get the girl under control again..."

The Witcher made his way back to join the Sorceress on that note, medallion humming and buzzing the closer he drew to the girl, raising a hand and joining in on her magical outpouring... binding the girl in Yrden Signs again, casting a powerful Axii Sign to attempt to sooth her, and a Somne Sign to try to put her back to sleep. The Signs were losing some of their effectiveness on the possessed being, as the thing inside her grew stronger... but in combination with Yennefer's own magic, gradually began to do their job. The magic encased child sank back down to the floor slowly, closing her inky black eyes again... and before long was back to sleep, under control, the dark magic pouring from her receding again. Even so, it was close, too close... and the demon thing inside her probably knew that too, that it was close to achieving the inevitable, the longer the exorcism was put off, leaving it content to withdraw its hold, for the moment. Bide its time. Lowering his hand back down to his side, Eskel drew a breath where he knelt on the floor next to the girl, shaking his head, marred features looking back over the Sorceresses's way again with a grimace, deep voice speaking up to her again calmly.

"It's done. She's asleep, and they're gone, for now. Can't keep this up another night. This place is falling apart, will collapse in the next attack. If you have a plan to get out of here, and to Kaer Morhen for that exorcist, I'm all ears. Leaving on foot and horse don't seem to be working, at the moment."

@okruchlodu

[vulpes-fennec]

Winter Court Solstice Ball (Viviane x Kallias) 🎁

Summary: A series of fluffy/smutty ACOTAR winter one-shots! 12 stories for the 12 days leading up to Solstice (December 21).

A glimpse of what Solstice celebrations look like in the Winter Court, brought to you by our favorite ice couple! Set pre-ACOTAR series.

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Tonight was the Winter Solstice. Tonight, households across the court would sing traditional hymns by their blazing fires, feast on roasted meats and sweet cookies, and exchange presents. 

Tonight would be Viviane’s 55th Solstice Ball, but such celebrations never got old. Garlands of holly and faelight were strung across the banquet hall, the soft tinkling of bells and strumming of harps drifted through the air, spiced wine and delicious treats were offered by finely-suited servants…

“Viv.” She spun around at the familiar voice.

“Kal!” she exclaimed happily. The High Lord’s son—and her closest friend—was adorned in courtly finery: a dark blue, fur-lined coat that stopped just above his knees, embroidered black pants, and fur-lined black boots. 

Kallias blinked his icy blue eyes at her, as if taken aback. “You look…nice tonight,” he replied, albeit awkwardly. 

“Well you look quite dressed up yourself, too,” she grinned, elbowing him. Viviane felt a pang of disappointment at his words. She wasn’t expecting him to call her beautiful, but still…it would have been nice to hear. Especially when she’d put extra care into her appearance tonight for him, dusting her eyelids with a sparkling shadow reminiscent of gleaming snow and blushing her cheeks pink to mimic the chilly outdoors.

“Thank you.” Kallias dipped his head swiftly. “I wanted to ask if you would do me the honors of the first dance.” 

The first dance held significant weight in court—politically or romantically. But Viviane and Kallias had danced together enough that the court merely shrugged them off as the two peas in a pod. Come to think of it, was there ever a time she didn’t share her first Solstice dance with Kallias?

Still, Viviane wished there was something more behind Kallias’s glacial blue eyes when he extended his hand towards her. It was stupid to hope. Kallias would be High Lord of Winter one day, opening the Solstice Ball’s first dance with his Lady of Winter. But until that day came…

“No need to be so formal, Kal,” Viviane chuckled lightly. “If you need someone to fend off those thirsty court ladies, I’m happy to dance with you all night.” 

Kallias smiled back, an extra brightness in his sapphire eyes. “I hope you’re not joking Viv, because those matchmaking mothers are especially bloodthirsty tonight.” 

Tonight, power thrummed through the halls of the Winter Palace, as if the icy land was reclaiming its identity on the longest night of the year. And when Viviane placed her hand into Kallias’s warm one, a similar thrill diffused through her very bones. Like something ancient and powerful was also stirring within her.

She blinked, wondering if Kallias felt the same way too. But his chiseled face remained neutral as music from the Royal Symphony started and swelled. 

Notes from string and woodwind instruments accompanied Kallias as he swept Viviane away in a waltz. Kallias’s heart was full with his friend in his arms. The words “you’re beautiful” had gotten lodged in his throat earlier, leaving him a stuttering, awkward mess. Truth be told, Viviane always looked beautiful to Kallias. But tonight, she was utterly ethereal in her bluish-purple gown of sweeping tulle, adorned by silk viola flowers. 

Hell, everything felt perfect. Viviane’s slender fingers fit his hand like a glove. Her supple waist was warm under his palm, under the layers of soft fabric. Even their footwork was well-matched. Dancing with Viviane was easy, natural. Kallias could dance with her forever and never tire of it. 

“Is that…is that an earring I see?” Viviane peered up, eyes lighting on the silver ring on the lobes of Kallias’s ears. The look of mock aghast she gave him was utterly improper for a ballroom dance floor, but Kallias loved it. 

“I can be adventurous, Viv,” Kallias murmured into her ear as he spun her. Earrings—particularly earrings on males—was the latest craze. At least pierced ears were relatively tame compared to the tattoo-on-the-tongue trend a decade back. 

“When did you get them pierced? I can’t believe I wasn’t there for it!” Viviane craned her neck to gain a better view of Kallias’s piercing. 

Kallias shrugged carelessly. “Just last week.” He selectively omitted the part where he’d gotten them spontaneously after a drunken night out. 

Viviane sighed with relief. “Okay, good. I was worried that I didn’t notice them before, but it turns out it was fairly recent.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do your parents know?”

Kallias chuckled. “No, of course not. My father would throw a fit. I figured he wouldn’t cause a scene tonight, so I dropped the glamour.” 

“Hmph…but you still didn’t tell me. I could have bought you earrings for your present.” Viviane pouted slightly, making her pink lips look all the more delicious.

Kallias smiled wryly. “There are a lot of things I don’t tell you, Viv.” 

Kallias’s teasing expression riled Viviane enough to offer boldly, “I’ll share a secret if you’ll share one of yours.” 

“Deal. I’ll go first.” The waltz was tapering off, but Kallias seemed to hold her even closer. Viviane was trying very hard to discreetly inhale his fresh pine cologne. To not reveal just how much she savored being close to her friend. “Do you like anyone at the moment?” His voice was tight.

Viviane felt like her heart had jumped to her throat. 

“I…I like you,” she said quickly, praying that the copious amounts of blush on her face hid the heat rising to her cheeks. It was a pathetic truth, one that could be passed off as platonic affection. 

Kallias’s brows lifted and his blue eyes flashed with surprise. But he recovered quickly, smoothing the stoic look of a Prince of Winter over his features. “Not helpful,” he scoffed. “I already know you like me…as a friend. Now ask me something.” 

He’d taken the easy route as well, filing her half-confession away with teasing. Squashing any possibility of romance between them. 

The vibrating dominance in Kal’s voice—the budding dominance for the heir of a Court—sent shivers down Viviane’s body as the song ended. 

Viviane regarded her friend carefully. Kallias had turned 70 this year, just as she had. They’d been friends since they were younglings, but…it was only recently that she began to notice things about him. 

Like the way his white hair curled at the nape of his neck in between haircuts. Or how the muscles in his back rippled during training sessions. She’d been dying to know whether Kal had anyone in his heart lately. But she chickened out. 

“Er…what is one Solstice tradition you dislike?” 

Kallias sagged internally with relief. He’d been scrambling to prepare a list of court females he could “claim” to have a crush on, if Viviane turned the question back to him. 

“I hate the whole elk sacrifice ritual,” he admitted.

Before the sun set on the Winter Solstice, the court’s herders presented the High Lord with their finest animal. It was an honor to be chosen, for the animal’s blood would be carefully collected for rituals and the meat would be distributed to families in need. The sacrifice was an important tradition that honored the herders, the circle of life, and the magic of the land but…Kallias hated seeing such a public execution of majestic creatures.

As the next throng of dancers moved onto the dance floor, Kallias and Viviane stepped back into the sidelines. 

“I never knew that, Kal,” Viviane said softly, putting a hand on his arm. “I suppose I don’t like it either, but at least I can skip the event.” 

“Just doing my duty, I guess. Though it doesn’t make me feel any better that I’ll be the one sending the poor elk to its death someday.” A pensive look came across his face. 

“I mean, that’s what happens when we eat meat. The slaughter is just behind closed doors.” Viviane plucked two cranberry tarts from a passing server and offered one to Kallias with nonchalance. “But you could try changing things when you’re High Lord.” 

She took a big bite. The tart was deliciously tangy, with notes of dark chocolate spreading on her tongue. “Mmmm this is so good…what if you did an elk pardon instead?” Viviane suggested around a full mouth.

“Oh, yes,” Kallias chuckled. “And send them to an elk sanctuary where they can live happily to old age.”   

“I’m serious! We can host a Solstice cooking contest and donate the dishes to the charities. And we can switch elk blood with berry juice.” 

“Well…” Kallias paused. “I don’t think the elk blood has any magical properties on its own, but the priestesses want it because the High Lord has touched the elk with his magic.” 

“So? You can use your magic to mash up some berries, right?” Viviane giggled. “Just think…Kal, High Lord of Winter, standing in the kitchen wearing an apron and covered in berry juice—”

“Me? Covered in berry juice?” Kallias said incredulously. “You’re the one with berry tart all over your mouth.” 

Viviane’s chest tightened as her friend took a step closer, sweeping his thumb gently at the corner of her mouth. There were indeed several crumbs and a smear of red on Kallias’s finger. Under normal circumstances, Viviane would have felt embarrassed. But right now, she could only feel the thrum of power and heady heat within her. 

What was going on? “Thanks,” Viviane murmured, grabbing a nearby napkin to wipe off his finger. “Do I have anything else on my face?” 

“No.” His eyes seemed to darken as he stared at her lips. 

Cauldron…she needed to get a grip over herself and stop reading too much into the situation.

“Anyways.” Kallias shook his head. “Let’s do it. When I become High Lord. We should do it together.” 

Viviane caught his silent promise beneath the words: that regardless of what happened in the future, Kallias would keep her close by his side. The next song was starting. “Would you do me the honor of the next dance, Kal?”

[pinkrelish]

🌟 "a kiss stolen away in a corner, ignoring crowds" perhaps i beg??

a/n: from this kiss prompt list

NSFW-ish: fem!reader, magic au, jealous obito, crude jokes, and sexual implication at the end

Words: 4.5k

Obito was a talented spellslinger, there was no doubt about that, but when it came to facing his rival, Kakashi, in the annual wizarding tournament between neighboring kingdoms, he choked.

It wasn't his fault magic was fueled on good feelings and he was filled with such bitterness after once again failing in front of his king. Kakashi had it all: fame, money, adoring fans, a girl hanging on his arm.

If only Obito's ordinary, magicless assistant could help him win his next fight..

Obito rammed his shoulder into the door and sent it slamming against the wall of his study, rattling his cramped shelves of curios. Liquids of past endeavors sloshed in their glass beakers. Metal trinkets teetered. Streams of mist were disturbed, giving way to his body charging through them. Books knocked themselves over, except for the one he snatched mid-air and threw onto his desk, falling into his chair with a huff.

You were hot on his heels, treading lightly into his quarters and shutting the door behind you with utmost gentleness, using the thick burnished wood to shush the booing crowd in the background shouting for blood in the brief respite between rounds.

Wringing your mouth into a frown at the voices echoing down the cobbled stone hallway leading to the arena, you clashed Obito’s harshness with your delicate nature. Crossing the full length of the floor in two steps to tidy up the half-burnt candlesticks littering the floor while he hunched over his desk, summoning energy to his hands, lighting the dingy room in the soft blue glow of magic. Harnessing his prowess to flip through the pages of his spellbook in simple twitches of his clawed fingers, broadening his shoulders with a heavy sigh as he poured over the ancient materials written in a language you did not know, eyes flicking from one line of text to the other.

His study was overcrowded. Every space occupied if possible, including the plethora of plants hanging from the ceiling, encroaching upon your limited vision like a temperamental jungle that required the artificially humid air Obito created to prosper. You swept your frizzy hair over your shoulder and groped for a stool hidden under stacks of spare wizard’s robes, scraping the metal legs across the stone floor as you dragged it next to him, perching on the edge after grabbing the first aid kit from the window sill.

Pausing the astringent pad over the cut on Obito’s cheek, you waited to see if he would acknowledge you first. “This’ll sting,” you warned.

“Just get it over with,” he muttered, and of course, hissed when you swiped it over the shallow injury.

It was one of the lesser battle wounds he incurred during his duels with Kakashi, but it’d leave a scar nonetheless. Always on his right side, having a habit of flinching to his left. Favoring his weaker side even now to run his hand through his black hair, pushing it from his wrinkled forehead and scratching above his furrowed brows. Ruminating something fierce in his hardened jaw, grinding his teeth back and forth. Working his muscles clamped tight while you exhaled through your nose, cooling the alcohol on his skin as you chased thin drops of blood outlining the curve of his Adam’s apple.

The light gracing his palms increased at the same speed the book unfurled itself to the appendix in the back. “It’s just like him to pull that bullshit on me,” Obito continued under his breath, searching the list of spells. “Debuting a flashy new move when I was prone. Always such a fucking show off.”

“Have you tried being better than him?”

He batted your wrist away. “Could you at least try to be of some use?” You clicked your tongue at his chiding, but couldn’t rid yourself of the sly grin tugging at the corner of your mouth, aggravating him into putting you to work. Frustrating him all the more when you erupted into a fit of giggles at his face when he haughtily pointed out books for you to read through. “I don’t have time to goof off! Find me a spell, a potion, an incantation, something that’ll work.” He hurried your pace, taking clothbound books from the drawer of his desk and shoving them in front of you, stabbing his finger at them. “Help me figure out how I can win this stupid tournament once and for all!”

Lazily opening the one on top about tree roots and their importance in hair care products, you watched for his reaction. “Why bother with all this when you know as well as I do what really fuels magic?”

His erratic page turning slowed. The room dimmed of its ethereal glow, dwindling the blue light captured in the reflections of mirrors and bouncing off murky jars. Mist hung in the slight separation of your bodies, knees touching and gazes drifting to the outline of thighs hugging their respective clothing.

“I don’t need..” He shook his head as if ridding himself of a thought. “I don’t need to resort to that to win. I can do it my way. I can beat him.”

Magic was conjured and fed by the wielder's emotions. The stronger the better, but it truly thrived of the sweeter, kinder ones Obito struggled to empower. Locking himself away in his room all hours of the day, practicing all hours of the sleepless nights. Bossing you around to gather this and that for him. Experiencing all the throat-cleaning, chest-crushing, lung-collapsing sensations you explained to him countless times about how it felt to fall in love, but he never felt them in the context you instructed him it would.

He only felt bitterness, stress, and rage when staring down his opponent in the arena. A rival haunting him since they were children in school. Sat next to each other, achieving similar success, yet he was passed over in favor of Kakashi. Always Kakashi.

The stab of white-hot jealousy in his heart when you looked at Kakashi.

It was always Kakashi.

You tapped your fingernails on the scratched surface of his desk and offered a piece of insightful advice. “Maybe you need a girlfriend.”

He cut you a look.

“All I’m pointing out is that he started dating his apprentice and bam! He comes out swinging with that new move and knocks you flat on your ass.”

“Oh, my apologies for respecting my craft above loitering at bars, picking up any girl who throws me a second glance,” he sneered, sharpening his glare at you. “With what time do you propose I do such a trivial thing in hopes a woman falls for me? I’d rather lose a thousand times than stoop to such pitiful tactics to gain the upper hand.” Returning his nose to his book, he scoffed. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a girlfriend. Looks like I’m stuck with you and my own merits.”

“How awful,” you covered the rejection with a joke, suppressing a reaction from crossing your face until he was paragraphs deep in lore behind an elixir illustrated on the yellowed page. You concealed it further with your knuckles dug deep into your cheek.

“It must be nice to be dating his apprentice. Working side by side, falling in love. Being able to look over at her in the midst of battle, putting the rush of endorphins into his magic! I heard they met during the solstice festival two years ago. He asked her to dance as soon as they laid eyes on one another.”

Your dreamy sigh caught his attention. He grinned wickedly at your innocence, shining the white of his teeth in a fresh surge of blue. “I heard she sucks him off between rounds.”

“Obito!”

“What?” he laughed, voice raspy and hoarse from his fire usage. “Why do you think he always goes out there smiling?” He cackled again at your expression. Then he snuffed the good mood from the room. “Get serious. Start picking herbs.”

Dictating you around with grunts and waves of his hands, you ripped leaves from various plants stashed in the nooks and crannies of the room. Tucking your elbows to your side to squeeze past him for the carrier powder stowed in an inconspicuous ceramic jar, handing it all to him in his mortar and pestle.

“Oh, and a badger’s tooth, too,” he said, gesturing at the final muse to complete his mixture sitting on the top shelf above where you sat. But in doing so, his sleeve bunched at his elbow. Heavyspun cotton slid the length of his forearm, revealing a deep crimson gash interrupting the flow of his scarred flesh. Arm hair matted with dried blood.

Clearly, a secret he meant to keep from you judging by how he snapped his arm from your prying eyes and wrung his sleeve around his wrist.

You gasped his name. “When did you–”

“It’s nothing. Time’s almost up,” he reminded you about the break between matches in a tone telling you to drop it.

What a fool he was. You couldn’t sit back and witness him risk infection over a superficial tournament with Kakashi that served as nothing more than a pissing contest between otherwise amicable kingdoms all in the name to entertain your bored kings in this time of peace.

You stood and unclasped the broach holding your cloak closed and flourished it around your person, using the clean inside to staunch the oozing wound. Angry at yourself for not noticing the specks of sticky blood on the floor, nor the dark pool on the frustratingly black sleeve of his magi robes.

The stool creaked beneath your weight as you bent forward, hair falling into your face as you tended to him. “You shouldn’t let this go undressed.”

“If I embarrass the king and lose again, it’ll be the least of my worries.”

The muscles in his forearm flexed. Veins bulging with effort from grinding the tooth and expressing the oils from the herbs, mixing them together in a suede satchel. Ignoring your doting hands mopping up inky blood like it’d make a difference.

“Can I ask you something?”

He cinched the satchel. “Make it quick.”

“Why keep me as an assistant instead of getting a real apprentice? Or at least someone who could heal you.”

An insightful question he avoided for the better part of five years. He should’ve graduated to an apprentice who had a talent for magic as he did. Someone he could teach, delegate meaningful tasks to, rely on for their expertise, develop new spells with and pass them on to the next generation. Instead, he kept you glued to his side. An ordinary human lacking any of the skillset he required to advance his career.

You sucked in your bottom lip and nibbled it like you always did when focusing on something; smoothing an ointment smelling of mint along his fevered skin. You blinked rapidly, fluttering the lock of hair stuck to your lashes. “This is going to need some serious stitches. Which you know I can’t do even if we did have the time.”

Without thinking, he shushed you with the graze of his fingertips across your forehead. Gentle and intimate. Collecting the strands of curled hair between his bent fore and middle fingers, brushing them to your temple. Guiding his knuckles down the sweep of your soft cheek and tucking them behind your ear.

Surprising you, and him. Locked in a curious stare as if you’d discovered each other for the first time. Rendering him stunned; breath hitched in his tight throat. Heart pounding against the cage of his chest. Thrumming hot under the collar in the privacy of his study. Tingling his nerves with an addictive sweetness when you shied from his heavy observance, averting your eyes from his mouth in fear of getting caught. An adorable reaction he noticed with rapt attention considering he held no such modesty when sneaking glances at your low cut dress, laced tight in the front, worn on this special occasion. Once, he told you the specific hue of blue found on butterfly wings during a cloudy day was his lucky color. And here you sat, adorning a dress you must’ve dyed thrice to get it right, hidden under a drab cloak.

After sufficiently carving the memory of your breasts into his mind, he willed his eyes from your cleavage, only to get trapped at the sight of your plush lips, slightly parted from a quiet breath.

He whispered an answer to your question asked minutes ago. “Because I prefer your company over a stranger’s. When I chose you six years ago, it wasn’t a mistake.”

The mist stilled. Dewy drops clung to your clavicle, shimmering in the faint light from his upturned palm resting where he dropped it on the table after following the length of your hair over your shoulder. Illuminating the rapid pulse in your neck as something transpired in the way he regarded you. Like something new stirred in the heartbeats you shared through short strokes of your thumb tracing the cut on his arm placed in your lap.

Like something changed in your dynamic when your noses almost touched, and your stuttering exhales joined as one invisible validation in the unfathomably narrow separation of your rising chests.

Like a momentary acceptance dragged his eyelids shut, missing the slight tilt of your head in anticipation, expecting him to–

A trumpet sounded. Three sharp notes.

“Oh–!” You both jolted.

“We should–”

“Yeah.”

You collected your cloak and tossed it over your shoulder, spinning, fumbling cleaning up the spilt remains of Obito’s concoction, rushing an equally flustered man out the door who proved to be of little help when he bumped a shelf and a slew of glowing moonstones tumbled across his desk, rolling to the floor along with the pestle.

“Come on, we don’t have time for this.” He grabbed your hand and led you out the door, not bothering to close it behind him.

“Wait,” you pleaded, snatching him by the sleeve and jerking him out of his strong stride, stopping him in the middle of the hallway. “Just wait a second,” you repeated, unable to catch your breath–not at all due to the sudden flurry of activity.

Obito whirled, and you collided with his massive stature.

Recovering quicker than he did, you wrested the fabric of his robe and brought him closer to the torch at the entrance of his study, all the while his head was turned to the end of the hallway. Towards the thundering voices demanding more from him.

Falling into routine, you straightened out the collar of his robe. You pulled it taut and laid it flat on his broad chest, smoothing out the wrinkles with the heel of your palm. The dust was brushed off easily, and his shirt underneath was picked free of lint. Wrapping your fingers around his corded belt, you loosened it and retied it in an elaborate knot.

He watched it all. With his face turned towards the rowdy audience, but his eyes solely on you. Noticing the little things you did for him–that he knew you did before every match–but now, he observed them truthfully. Harboring the emotions he felt in the twist of his stomach and the blush reddening his cheeks as you touched him in ways he never allowed anyone else to.

You patted the suede pouches at his hip. Checked his scabbard. Neatened the tasseled end of his belt, ran your hand over the top of his thigh. Leaned into him as he leaned away, keeping the way his body reacted to your presence a secret.

“I’m fine,” he said, gravelly voice breaking. Betrayed by a host of emotions present in his dark eyes.

“I’m making you look presentable.” You pulled his gloves from your pocket and held them open while he slid his hands into the soft leather. “Do your best, Obito.” With that, you looked him over and approved his state; less disheveled than he appeared before, but only after combing your fingers along his scalp to tame his wild hair. “I’ll try to get a spot in the front row.”

You left. And he could breathe again. Hearing himself think in the rise of blood to his ears.

You wished him to do his best. And the bitterness returned. Would you have wished Kakashi to do his best, or would you know of him as the champion? Offering him a winning smile and nothing more, secure he’d give it a mediocre try and still be crowned.

The good feelings vanished from his soul. Decimated. Replaced by all his hatred. Erasing the tender moment in his study, dismissed by a looping scene of your eyes widening at Kakashi’s newest spell. Mouth agape in all ways impressed. A distinguished expression of enthrallment at Kakashi whilst Obito was sprawled on the ground, writhing in agony.

What girl would be enticed by his inferiority? What girl would be impressed by his ineptitude?

The voices in the hallway escalated to a cacophonous roar announcing Kakashi’s arrival, and died upon Obito’s entrance. Standing at opposite ends of the polished dais of opulent tiles laid out in a nine pointed star. A vicious scowl meeting an uninterested face half disguised under a mask.

The trumpet sounded again, and before the audience could gasp, the battle was underway.

A tournament of spells whizzing past ears, exploding, raining sparks upon heads, setting hair ablaze. A duel of innocuous incantations meant to get under the skin of the other, until at last, it was an all-out blood bath.

A fight for pride, and fame, and a title.

From under his pinched brows, Kakashi met Obito’s gaze and withdrew his long fingers from the pockets sewn into his sleeves, hurling black soot and ash onto the dais. Summoning hellhounds without mercy.

And just like the first round, smoke rose and the scraping of nails against tile sucked the moisture from mouths as fear kicked in. Savage barks boomed. Fangs pierced the fog, maws snarling. Death incarnate.

The dogs of death bolted at Obito.

His vision narrowed to the pack leader, grasping the dagger at his belt and stabbing it in the air. He chanted. Invoked a spell from deep within his core; the fire in his belly. Roaring to life from the tip of his blade. Swirling, curling around the smoke. Arcing through and cutting down. One fallen, seven to go. Then six, then two. The largest. Pounding the tile. Trembling the pebbles of rubble dirtying its image.

Obito concentrated. Shifted his stance to offense, begging the fatigue to stave off just a little bit longer. Just a little more. Another dog burned to charcoal. The last, eviscerated in a sea of flames. Just until he could reach Kakashi. Then it’d be over.

Years and years of jealousy and animosity; Obito cultivated it all. Used its power. Imbued the tip of his dagger with all the self loathing he honed after decades of being ignored.

The flames reached across the arena, and stopped.

At the last second, Kakashi greased his palms and clapped them together. An earthen wall surged from the ground, shielding himself from the fire licking the edges of his side of the arena.

Obito’s stomach sank. The crowd stood in awe, waiting for the moment Kakashi decided to reveal himself and end the fight before Obito made a fool of himself for trying.

But a voice called out. Cheered, even.

Searching over the meat of his shoulder holding the dagger true to his target, Obito eyed the audience teeming for his blood. Guests invited from the other kingdom. Spectators. Except for one. At the very edge, obscured by burly men giving her evil looks.

You cheered for him again. “Come on, Obito! You can do it!”

Did you always say his name like that? In front of everyone without fear? He couldn’t recall. Always taking the things you did for granted.

He met your gaze from over his billowing sleeve and he’d never felt more relieved. Calmed. As if you being there, eyes gleaming with passion, encouraging him not to fold, lulled his mind to a state of peace. A place where his exhausted brain could decipher the roiling of emotions erupting from his chest. Pick out the new ones. The kind ones. The ones he associated with you, and only you, as you looked at him, and only him.

His face burned. Pulsing red like an ember. Painting the enclosed stadium in searing oranges, fanning hot flames to those who doubted him. Harnessing the absolute magnitude of realizations he had in the fractions of seconds he stared at you. At you. Always you. Right there beside him. Leading him, guiding him. Despite him being too stubborn to be worth your energy.

It was always you.

Cones of flames shot forth, drilling past the earthen shield, harming his rival once and for all.

Kakashi collapsed on the dais. Blood spilling from under his torn mask clutched in the palm of his burnt hand. Unable to process how he lost.

The audience cheered. The kings stood, one more mirthful than the other. Throwing his hands up in joviality to welcome Obito to the podium at the front of the room, declaring him the winner. An honor he only dreamed of. Never actualizing the bare truth of it all.

He was showered with praise, with rains of hands clasping him on his shoulders and shaking him with contagious laughter. Celebrating him and his efforts. Yet, he didn’t take his attention off the crowd pressing in on all sides. Seeking the wincing face of the one he owed his success to.

You elbowed your way to the front. Your cloak was hugged to your chest, splotches of blood ruining the fabric you held for dear life in the calamity of bodies jumping and chanting, jostling you around.

About to give up, you squeezed between two men and spotted the podium, hoping you made it in time to see Obito accept his reward. But you were caught off guard.

He was ignoring it all. Finding it more important to direct all his attention to you, making sure you were safe.

“Congratulations,” you mouthed at him, smiling wide. You waited a beat for him to nod back, though his face remained blank, and you made your departure. Slinking into the crowd and leaving it all behind for the quiet, sequestered entrance of the hallway leading to his study. Able to catch your breath and wipe the sweat from your brow. Easing the tension in your muscles, grateful you could grin at the end of this.

“Wait,” a wonderfully raspy voice stopped you in front of the door.

You turned, and arms welcomed you. Lips accepted you. Skilled fingers caressed the small of your back, bringing you in closer to be cradled by a warm chest as your shoulder blades connected with chilled stone.

Obito smiled against your mouth, breaking the kiss for a nervous laugh, shaking your joined bodies. Opening his eyes the amount needed to observe your shock ebb to elation, beholding him so kindly. Folding your arms and bringing them up to capture fistfuls of his hair.

“Sorry I’m so stupid,” he whispered in the lone hallway, pressing you further into him, cloaking you against the wall with the entirety of his being. Legs on either side of you, hips driving against yours. All of him braced firmly against you; a torchlight as your witness.

“Yeah, you’re an idiot,” you agreed, harmonizing in demure moans as your lips hushed one another again.

And just as the heat of the moment peaked where your thighs met, he pulled away at your insistence, struggling to fully enjoy the moment when the crowd in the other room chanted his name and interviewers demanded a victorious speech.

“You should get back out there,” you spoke through giggles, fawning over the stubble on his strong jaw–discovering how ticklish it was after wondering how it would feel rubbed against your cheek for years. Yet, he was the one who wouldn’t let go.

“But–”

“I’ll be here waiting for you. I promise. Now go and reap your reward. They want you, Obito.”

“You’re right.” He kissed your forehead and snorted at the wry grin plastered on your face. “And I won’t ever admit that again.”

~~~

He could’ve been gone minutes. He could’ve been gone hours.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and smiled into your shoulder, rocking back and forth in his study. Standing at his desk, cleaning his things like his loyal assistant ought to do.

~~~

With a simple wave of a hand, the torch’s flame doused itself with a hiss. The heavy wood door of the study sealed itself shut. The metal locks clicked into place. A pair of eyes peered out the window at the dispersing crowd and obfuscated it from sight, drawing a shutter closed.

Tense muscles gathered you. Strong, gloved hands wound down the scapes of your arms, flexing thick fingers over the tops of your knuckles. Flattening them to the desk. Halting your duties of tending to a mess that didn’t belong to you. Forming the curve of his body to yours. Interposing an alluring offer to your lower back, stealing the air from your lungs in gasp unheard; hushed by his stubble grazing your sensitive throat. Prizing you in kisses placed on areas of vulnerability presented freely to the man you trusted above all others.

Obito curled his fingers between yours, anchoring your urges from being explored. Frustrating, but oh so sweet as he did not temper his.

He nipped at your exposed flesh. “I won,” he uttered on the crook of your neck.

“You did,” you exhaled. His weight left your wrists. Your bodice loosened. You were spun against your will, coming face to chest and understanding the carnal desire coursing through both of your anxious fingers. Trembling to undo his belt and slide his robe from his shoulders, while he shakily ripped the cord from the front lacing of your dress and shoved the fabric under the bounce of your breasts, releasing a shy giggle at his impatience–silenced by his unyielding grip on your ass, setting you atop his desk and introducing himself between your thighs.

Your speech came out in tiny whimpers, surrendering yourself to the needy roll of his hips; clothing being the only thing restraining him from more, “If Kakashi’s apprentice gets on her knees between matches, what should I do for you, my Champion?”

“I only won because of you,” he said, lowering his pitch like he lowered his hands to your legs, bunching the fabric of your dress in his fists and hauling it upwards, aiming for your waist. “I’m the one who should be on my knees, thanking you with my tongue.”

A delightful shiver hardened your nipples at the thought.

“With magic, who cares about ordinary positions.”

His eyes widened, and slowly, a smile developed on his glistening lips. “You’re right.”

Piercing light filled the room, illuminating the quiet hallway in faint hues of blue from the gap under the door, only interrupted by a night filled with lewd shadows and blissful moans.

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[filthforfriends]

On the Cliffside

Damiano x fem reader

Word count: 2k

Based on a blurb request by @lifeofa-fangirl

By the time they called dinner you were starving. It’s not that you hadn’t brought plenty of snacks, you just hadn’t accounted for the amount of calories you’d burn on this shoot. Take after take of running through the forest at full tilt, barefoot, with the freezing wind from the coast whipping your hair. Everything about this music video had been kept secret. You weren’t given a script until you climbed in the van at your brutal 5am call time to be shuttled into the woods.

It was a three day shoot, and you’d only been hired for one. From what you could tell it was an ancient sacrilegious concept with pagan and Wiccan elements. Victoria was playing some sort of false god worshipped in this gorgeous coastal setting. They’d even hired a witch as a producer and you wished you had time to prepare beyond aggressively skimming wikipedia articles.

As unpleasant as it was, the cinematography was glorious. Dawn cracking itself open, splayed across the sky in the background. The light shone through the fabric, you looked ethereal. The director had you change into progressively bloodier dresses, more desperation and anxiety in your footfalls contrasting with the golden sunrise. Fake blood was sprayed on your face and he had you do a couple takes actually screaming.

“Yes, got it! Thank you, y/n, that’ll be all for a while.” The second round of crew arrived with the band, all yawning as the disembarked from the van. You were wrapped in a wool blanket, but thought better of asking to change. You knew the rules, don’t bother the staff, don’t bother the talent. Essentially be a potted plant unless you’re needed on camera. There was a table with coffee placed right by the producers, so it wasn’t general catering. Why hadn’t you thought to bring a thermos of something hot? The band went over and poured cups of coffee, already being poked and prodded by glam.

“You want some?” Damiano called to a crew member in your direction. “Hey there. Hey!” He’d taken a couple steps in your direction before you realized he was speaking to you. Most people treat background actors like pieces of the set.

“Oh, um,” you looked longingly, but saw all the higher ups gathered around the table. Damiano could sense that you felt torn, and put a guiding hand to your back.

“You need coffee, come on.” It was like Damiano’s acknowledgement of your existence made you no longer invisible to everyone else. A makeup artist looked at you and started digging in their belt.

“We’ve got to get this off before it stains your face, hun.” They started wiping your face and Damiano left, probably to get ready himself. You felt something being pushed into your hand and looked over to see him at your side again, handing you a cup of coffee. He winced at how roughly the makeup artist was scrubbing at a spot of fake blood right next to your eye.

“Thank you, um-” It was usually better to assume that someone liked to be addressed formally.

“If you call me anything other than Damiano, I’m suing.” The makeup artist turned away and you snorted with laughter. Something possessed you to say what you did next.

“All right, Mr. David.” He smirked, cocking an eyebrow as he sipped his coffee.

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, and you’re already covered in blood so your case is weak.”

“You know, now that you mention the fact that I’ve been covered in fake blood since 6am, I suppose I do deserve coffee.” You both take a sip while holding sizzling eye contact. Well then.

“I should apologize, I helped write the script.”

“You should apologize,” you quip. His expression is deliciously dangerous and you want to be in trouble. “Are you always so cruel, or do you save it for special occasions?”

“More like I save it for special people.”

“And somehow I’ve already met your prerequisites?”

“Damiano!” A crew member yells at him from across the set, and he’s swept away by wardrobe as soon as he looks over his shoulder. Wow. You can feel your cheeks heating up, and hope that flirting with Damiano hasn’t violated some taboo of professionalism.

You don’t get a chance to flirt verbally all day because you’re never alone. He’s unafraid, but seems to understand your plight. Physically though, it seems like the director is trying to set you guys up. It starts innocently enough, holding his hand in yours as your run along the cliffside. Then you’re dancing together in a clearing as the sun finally extends some warmth. Next he lays in a tangle of bodies while lip synching to camera. You do this with the other three band members as well.

Damiano watches the couple short shots you have intently. You skip and fling yourself through the forest while rock music blares in the background. Once a blackberry vine catches on your dress and you stay in character, pulling the fabric free and using the momentum to twirl.

“Nice,” calls the directer, both enthusiastic and monotone. “Lets do a couple more passes by thorns, y/n.” Damiano mouths your name and smiles at you, hearing it for the first time. “Getting caught and reacting in different ways.” You nod, unsure of how wardrobe is going to feel about you ripping your dress up for this shot. You do another take, integrating the catch of your dress into your movement. The director makes a sour face.

“Lets go to the ground, and then over top. Okay, Bill?” The cinematographer nods. Take after take you fall to the forest floor and the grips guide the camera over your head while you grin secretively like a nymph. “Lets make it sexier, y/n, its a sexy song.” You’re glad Damiano is needed somewhere else right now because this is humiliating. The next take you genuinely eat it and get the wind knocked out of you, but still manage to act like the grass is the embrace of a lover.

“Awesome! That looked so authentic. Let’s move on.” Thats because I am authentically in pain ass-wipe. You lay very still, hoping to be invisible again, as you catch your breath. “Y/n, come on! We need you in a couple shots with Victoria.” You and Victoria are wearing modesty patches, yards of gauzy black fabric, and nothing else. It’s the most intimate of a series of worship shots. You wiggle around sensually to everyone’s satisfaction, staring at her with pouted lips ad longing eyes.

“All right, I think you’re done.” Gratefully, you slink away in a bathrobe. You’ve just pulled on your day clothes when catering arrives. The only thing more potent than your exhaustion is your hunger. Luckily, you got first pick and the food was decent.

The sun is setting and you haven’t had time to explore, so you walk out of the tree cover and to the cliffside. The wind whips up the rock face in powerful gusts that smell like the ocean and tangle your hair. You have time to wander. It’s not even dark so it’ll be a while until a shuttle comes to take you back into the city. You mentally congratulate yourself for covering your paper plate with another on top, so your food will still be warm when you find a spot. The beach is sandy and beautiful, but the cliffs probably too sheer to navigate down. You’re pleasantly surprised at a rock outcropping protruding from a cove with a faint trail. It gets a bit dicey in the steeper parts for one-handed maneuvering, but you can at least climb half-way down and sit while you eat.

You can’t hear Daminao calling your name, his voice gets carried by the wind. Not until he’s nearly at the top of the outcropping do you turn around and see him, feeling flattered that he’d searched for you this far.

“How did you get down? he yells.

"There’s a trail!” You point right next to him, because he’s nearly stepping on it. To you it’s obvious.

“That is not a fucking trail, that is a path made for goats!” Your laugh gets lost in the wind, but he catches you smile in the last light of the setting sun. You scramble up the rocks and extend a hand.

“Let me hold you plate, while you climb down.” You take his food and watch Damiano gingerly brace his hands against the rocks, slowly picking his way down to where you wait. When he reaches the plateau, gritting his teeth, you struggle to keep a straight face. “Just sit down, for fucks sake, you’ll be fine,” voice still raised doing battle with the wind.

“I could literally die at any moment,” he deadpans. You splutter a laugh.

“Oh so you are the diva. I guess they were right.”

“I’d playfully shove you right now if it didn’t mean falling to your death.” You adored this warm, pink-cheeked, natural chemistry that buzzed between you. He wobbled trying to sit down awkwardly, so you gave him your hand and scooted over, gently pulling him so sit right next to you. Your knees and shoulders were pressed together as you looked out on the horizon.

“I spent part of my childhood growing up next to a beach like this. The sketchy pathways down cliff faces,” you clarified. “Not the expensive view.”

“I used to come to places like this all the time, when things started to pick up in Rome and I couldn’t breath.” You nodded in acknowledgment, knowing you didn’t understand, but that him sharing this with you was significant.

“Whenever I think about how big the ocean is, I feel less anxious.”

“Sea monsters?”

“No,” you gaff. “It reminds me that I’m insignificant, so my fucks ups are insignificant. Might as well do whatever I want to make a life with meaning.”

“I love that,” he murmurers. The air is heavy with tension that you can feel in your chest. Oh shit, I might really like him.

“Its so beautiful, in the twilight” you say blandly, like a coward.

“Its gorgeous.” You see Damiano move out of the corner of your eye and turn your head to find him gazing at you, not out onto the beach.

“Oh, fuck off!” You jostle him with your shoulder while you blush at the cheesy pickup line.

“You’re gonna knock me off a cliff,” he shrieks dramatically, laughing at himself. You throw your arms around him in a tight side hug.

“Now you’re not going anywhere, happy?” You sound indignant until your breath gets caught in your throat. Damiano has turned his face towards yours, his glorious Roman nose bumping your own. His eyes flit up to yours, then down to your lips. He wets his mouth and looks to your eyes again. You nuzzle him, savoring the moment, when you’re so excited about someone that you feel aflame. The electricity between you, gazing at his pretty mouth then his pretty eyes, was unbearable, but delicious.

You press a chaste, barely-there kiss to his lips, pulling back so you can swipe the tip of your tongue up the middle of his lips, to his cupids bow. Damiano makes a sound in the back of his throat resembling a growl and kisses you properly, hand sliding onto your mid-thigh.

For a first kiss, it’s damn good. He has the sense not to use tongue, but focus on creating a rhythm with you. He kisses you with pressure, mouths molding, but supports the back on your head with his hand. You quickly come to point where this exchange cannot be comfortably (or safely) continued on a cliff’s edge and you separate. You’re still holding onto each other, panting, and huffing in disbelief intermittently.

“We have protected beaches like this in Rome, y'know. It’s not just all resorts and umbrellas.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Castel Porziano and Sabaudia. You’d love it. Santa Severa has a castle. If you ever come to Italy, I’ll show you.”

“Really?” You wracked your brain for an excuse to go to Italy, besides the one sitting in front of you. After your pause, Damiano’s face changed completely.

“Shit, was that a completely psychotic thing to say after kissing you for the first time? Oh my god.” He looked absolutely mortified.

“Totally!” You kissed him again and he moaned into your mouth. “What part of Rome do you live in?”

Notes: I'm reposting this blurb as a fic. It was so fun to write! It'll be added to my Masterlist. Thank you for reading and requesting. <3

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