#it’s the anger and venom of someone who has been holding back out of restraint and politeness

[itspileofgoodthings]

But Daddy I Love Him one of her most powerful songs of all time.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Now you've got me thinking of vampire!Shig/Dabi. How Dabi cries blood and how Shig likes seeing him cry (for sexy fun reasons, obviously) 👀🫢 ooohhh, Tanco, you've given me a brain worm!!

Pairing: Shigadabi

Contents: BDSM, Dacryphilia, Vamipre!Shigaraki, Restraints, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Overstimulation, Blood Play, Multiple Orgasms, Possessiveness, Orgasm Denial/Delay

He does not bite the people he fucks. 

It's a common feeding tactic. Vampire venom is great for stripping back inhibitions, it makes the food source feel euphoric, a high enough dose can make them black out, and if they survive, it leaves them feeling essentially hung over. Lots of his kind like to cruse bars for people who are already a little drunk, using the intoxication to their advantage, as if they need any more. He doesn't eat the people he fucks. It's not some moral high ground. Taking blood without consent is still probably less bad than killing someone outright which is his usual method of feeding. And the thing is, there are plenty of people who want to be 'sucked and fucked' as it's been called in crasser circles. 

But with his quirk and his vampirism, both serving to make him so dangerous, Tomura doesn't fuck anyone who is high, drunk, or pumped full of his venom. It's just too dangerous. Could bite his partners after they're finished, but he never does. Puts him off his appetite once their bodies are ripe with the smell of cooling sweat, cum, and tears, when their blood is cooling so apparently inside of their veins. He's never even been tempted. 

And then he started fucking Dabi.

The first time they had ended up in bed together, it wasn't actually a bed. Had been arguing about a job, Dabi always feeling very secure in arguing with him because even though Tomura is fast, he's also extremely flammable. Dabi was always sure he could kill him if it came down to it, and he wore that surety in the form of arrogance and insubordination. So they had been fighting, and he had gotten into the arsonist's face, had moved with his unnatural speed to snarl at him, fangs bared because that was just how riled Dabi can make him. And instead of smelling smug, or afraid, or angry, he had smelled aroused, and the next thing he knew he had the other man on top of the table, Dabi's hands tangled into his hair and pulling him into a rough kiss. Had fucked him hard and absolutely ruined the blueprints they'd been arguing over in the first place. And he had nearly sunk his teeth into Dabi's throat while he was buried to the hilt in his too-hot, too-perfect body. 

Restrained himself the first time, and the second time, and the third time, when Dabi had actually let him take him to bed instead of whatever vaguely private improvised surface they could find, he'd mumbled, while he was still laying boneless and fucked out in his bed, "Fine with you biting me, Duster." 

And he'd grit his teeth and done his best to keep hold of his already fraying control. "I don't bite people I sleep with." 

"Really? Every other Fang I've slept with asked, or didn't and got ashed, but whatever." Tomura isn't sure what to do with the anger that kindles in his chest. A possessive, instinctive rage that his arsonist has ever felt the sting of someone else's fangs. Really not helping with the desire to bite him, to give him a drop of his blood in turn so that no other vampire will come near him without knowing he's off-limits. 

"I don't." Had been all he'd managed before Dabi dropped the topic with a shrug. 

But that doesn't mean that every time he has the arsonist in bed he's not half distracted trying to keep his fangs to himself. It's probably a good thing that Dabi's neck and wrists are so heavily scarred because if he had to watch the way his pulse raced along with the heady smell of his blood in his nose and the loud frantic beating of his heart, Tomura would have lost it a long time ago. Feels his control slipping whenever he has Dabi in his bed, so he proposes a change to their relationship. Switched from being his boss who he hatefucks sometimes, into being his Dom. Introduced more rules into their bedroom play and thought that would help him keep his head on straight. Would make him curb his hunger. But every time he's with Dabi it just seems to grow. 

"Tomura," Dabi's voice always gets so breathless and whiny when he has the other man like this, the attitude melting away the second he takes complete control of his sub. That alone could get him drunk on the other man's presence. 

"How many times did you talk back to me during the meeting?" A meeting observed by his teacher at that. Is supposed to be proving himself as a worthy successor, and Dabi had put that in jeopardy. More than earned a punishment and knew that he would get one, but kept it up anyway. Been so bratty since they started planning this job. Thinks that means his firefly is nervous. Doesn't blame him for that, not really, not when the last time the League had gone up against UA they'd lost nearly everyone they brought in for the job. But Dabi is more insane than him if he doesn't think that he'll tear down everything in his way to-- the obsessive thoughts come unbidden and unwanted. He pushes them aside. Clicks the bullet one setting higher to hear Dabi keen and see him arch against his bonds. The point is Dabi knew he was misbehaving when he did it. Had still readily come to his room. Which means he knew he would be in for a punishment when he did. 

"Please, sir," The words tremble, but not nearly as badly as Dabi is. Stripped and bound on his bed, legs held wide with a spreader between them, and his cock hard and flushed, silicone cock ring keeping him that way as Tomura runs the bullet vibrator along his length. Between his piercings, just underneath his head, presses it to his slit and watches one desperate drop of pre manage to slip out and bead there. 

"Four." He answers for him. "Four times, brat. So that's how many times I'm going to fuck you before you get to cum." He doesn't think that's possible. Thinks Dabi will pass out or his erection will go from pleasurable to dangerous if he actually makes the human hold out for that long against his supernatural stamina, but Dabi has a safeword for when he needs human concessions in their play. He'll last two, probably, and then Tomura will save the next two for the next time he has the arsonist in bed. Then again, brings the vibrator back down along his piercings as the fingers opening up his needy boy press and rub against his prostate. Dabi strains against his bonds, a dry sob choked out of his throat as he moans. Fuck, he looks pretty when he's desperate. He supposes if Dabi begs after one then he'll possibly get to torture him three times, maybe four if he's feeling particularly mean. 

He's definitely feeling mean when he pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock. His firefly doesn't love anything as much as he loves being stuffed full, and Tomura loves the way his body is so much hotter around him than anyone else has ever been. loves the way his tight walls always cling so greedily to him. Dabi's smoking after just a few thrusts which means all his efforts to work him up are certainly paying off. Brings everything even higher for him as he makes sure to angle his cock to hit his prostate and brings the toy back to his ladder. The metal piercing the skin there has already made him so sensitive, the added sensation has him clenching like a vice around his cock, and his back arching off of the bed. It will be a miracle if he manages not to safeword before Tomura's even reached his first orgasm at this rate. 

"You're not going to make it to four, are you, baby? Too needy. I'm going to have to carry over your punishment then." Definitely the possessive thing in him that says, "I should lock your cock up so that you can't touch yourself until you've finished being punished. Make you wear it all the time. I wonder if it would be visible through those tight pants, probably would be. That would mean everyone would know that you're mine." Shit, knows those words were made too much of his instincts, pivots, "That you misbehaved and now you don't get to play with your needy cock until I say so." 

"Tomura, Tomura, Tomura--" gasping on every thrust. He can hear every hitch in his breathing, the rapid beating of his heart, can smell his sweat, and arousal, and blood. He is getting lost in Dabi, because he always gets lost in him when they fuck. His own arousal is at odds with his hunger, as both slowly build. He should have drained a blood bag before snaring the arsonist, because his thirst is getting to him. Is making it smell like Dabi is about to bleed, but he's being careful. Keeping his strength at bay. No reason for Dabi to be bleeding--

It would have been hard to control himself at the first broken sob out of Dabi's throat if it were tears running over his cheeks. It is impossible to do when Dabi breaks and there is blood pouring from his eyes instead. Can't even focus long enough to wonder if that's bad. Because humans don't typically cry blood unless there's something very, very wrong, because his hunger absolutely overwhelms him. His human, already so pretty, even prettier with tears on his cheeks, and those are blood. Can indulge in him without infecting him with his venom. 

He might lose his mind a bit. Leans down and drags his tongue over Dabi's cheek, and they both moan loudly. Dabi's blood is a contradiction. It's hot against his tongue but it tastes like snow, and ash, and molten metal. It's rich with the flavor of his desperation, his pleasure, and he immediately knows he shouldn't have had one taste, because he wants so much more. He wants to sink his teeth into his throat and drink so deeply that Dabi will have to take a pull off his veins to survive, so he will be smelling like him for weeks. Barely notices how hard he's fucking the other man, how he's been holding the bullet against his ladder, is too busy indulging in everything he shouldn't have. Just wants to get more bloody tears slipping over his cheeks. 

"Ah, ah, ah-- Tomura, I-- I can't," he sobs fresh and he immediately licks away the fresh drops of blood. "Tomura, gray, please, please--"

He barely pays attention, reaching down to undo his ring. Only takes another few thrusts before Dabi's cum is splashing hotly against their skin. Tomura doesn't stop. Fucks him straight through the overstimulation so that Dabi is sobbing constantly, even when he does eventually manage to get hard again. To stripe their stomachs with a little more cum. Is planning on taking him through to a third, will keep going so long as those delicious, pretty tears keep falling, but his firefly is shaking his head, his voice shaking too,

"Yellow, please, Tomura, please," means he wants him to slow down. Wants him to finish, will hold out for that, but otherwise wants to be close to stopping. Too bad. Something treacherous in him knows if he just gives him a nip, maybe against his swollen lips, that his venom will take away his reluctance. Will make him pliant and eager, will make him push his body far further than would be comfortable. That a drop of his venom will make Dabi's body last until he decides he's done with him. But even through the haze of his arousal and blood, Tomura knows better. Focuses on his thrusts, easing off of his prostate, putting the bullet aside, and with the heavy satisfaction of fresh blood in his stomach, the feeling of Dabi's spent body still trembling and clenching tight around him, and the sight of him, strung-out, bloody smears on his cheeks, and pretty blue eyes so hazy, it doesn't take long for him to finish. Orgasming has always been better since he turned, but he's never finished immediately after feeding, and the blood makes everything so much better. Makes the pleasure feel like it sinks so much deeper, like it might have restarted his heart for a split second as warmth that is no longer his surges through his body. Focuses beyond the wonderful sensations tingling across his nerves to listen for Dabi's little gut-punched sound he always makes whenever he fills him up with his cum, like no matter how many times they do this, it's still a surprise that his release is as cool as the rest of his body.

It takes them both a while to come down from everything, and when Tomura pulls out, he delights in watching how Dabi trembles and shivers as his cum leaks out of his flushed, puffy hole. Dabi stays slumped against the mattress as Tomura takes in the handprints that are bruised around his hips, the pricks of where his nails sunk in, and he feels a pang of remorse. He's normally so good about controlling his strength, but clearly he'd slipped while he was in the haze of his lust-- both types of it. If they're already nearly the same color as Dabi's scars then they're going to be especially painful when his firefly comes all the way down from his high. Tomura dips his head down to press a kiss against one of the marks and Dabi hisses softly. 

"Sorry, I'll go get you an icepack." 

Dabi makes a non-committal sound, tangles a hand in his hair instead and tugs lightly. Couldn't move him if he wanted, but he indulges the human, shifting back up his body to give him a kiss, the other man's blood still behind his teeth. "Can't you just give me a little of yours?" 

The wave of possessive heat that goes through him makes his fangs drop before he can stop it, and Dabi lets out a breathless laugh. Always delights in making him lose control even the smallest bit. "Dabi," 

"Come on, not like I'm fucking any other fangs right now," the thought has a snarl building in his chest. "Besides you got a taste, you're all about reciprocity." 

"...Are you sure?"

"Come on Duster, make me yours," there's a teasing little lilt in his voice. Like he doesn't believe or understand just how badly Tomura wants that. "Besides, I have more punishments. Won't this help me keep up?" 

He doesn't even care about that at the moment, too lost in the thought of having his claim inside of Dabi's skin. "Alright," And Dabi actually looks surprised, but his smell is delighted and a little smug. Tomura sinks his fangs into his lip before pressing back in for another kiss, letting the taste of their blood mingle on their tongues. 

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[the-sympathetic-villain]

You Belong With Me - Chapter 34

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost  

Description:   Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.  

Word Count: 6972

Chapter Warnings contain major spoilers so they’re at the end of the post, but please scroll down to check them if you need to! This chapter gets a bit heavy <3

-

    Logan inhaled slowly as he cast one last glance down the empty corridor behind him. He could feel Dee's impatience growing behind him as he took another step towards the fae's cell. Still, he felt himself pause, subconsciously doubting his choices as he turned to to face the wall outside Dee's cell. A dim, amber light fell from the small sconce burning on the wall to his left. He quickly reached up to the thin torch, wrapping his fingers around the wooden base. With a light shove, he dislodged the lit torch from its holder and turned to step through into the grey light of Dee's cell.

    He slowed, holding the torch out in front of him as he ducked through the doorway. He turned his body, edging carefully along the back wall, scanning the cell in front of him to catch sight of Dee's shadowy figure. The hairs on the back of his neck started to raise as continued to search the dim cell for the hostile fae. He barely kept the fear that his enemy had escaped at bay with the knowledge he’d heard the man's voice only a moment before. Logan could feel his energy. He had to be here.

    Finally, his heart jumped in his chest he caught the subtle glimmer of his torchlight reflecting in Dee's eyes at the back of the cell. Logan straightened upright with a questioning glance. Dee’s restraints appeared to be pulled taut and Logan could only guess the fae was as far back into the cell as the chains would allow. Logan continued to hold the torch out in front of him, crouching defensively as he quickly glanced up and down at the thin silhouette standing in the dark abyss of the back of the room.

     “Well, well,” Dee's dry laugh sent chills down Logan’s neck. “I almost didn’t think you had enough of a spine to ditch the prince's lap dog—”

    “Don't.” Logan gritted his teeth as he cut off Dee's attempt to get under his skin. He kept he gaze trained carefully on the billowing figure as he reached upward to place the torch in his hand into the empty sconce across from Dee's cell. The thin torch barely illuminated a small radius in front of him, barely keeping the shadows close to him at bay. “I'm not here to talk about Virgil. Refrain from insulting my friend or I’ll—”

    “Or you'll what?” Dee's wry grin stood out starkly against the shadows around him as glared threateningly at Logan. “Leave? If you had a shred of common sense, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.” Dee scoffed as Logan's expression soured. “Unfortunately for you, you’re the one here who wants something. So, I think you'll find I can speak about your friends anyway I damn please.”

    Logan stood against the far wall, rigid with irritation at the truth of Dee’s statement. He clenched his jaw as his eyes shot daggers across the room at the faint silhouette of Dee leaning against the wall at the back of the cell in front of him.

    “That’s what I thought. You’re as weak as I expected.” Dee sneered. A slight hiss escaped his lips as he struggled to contain the disdain in his voice. “I may be the prisoner, but you’ll never hold power with me. You’re merely a pawn in the bigger game I'm playing.”

    Logan paused, blinking in surprise. His careful, guarded expression faltered briefly as the air wavered with an emotion he didn’t recognize. He parted his lips slightly, subtly tasting the unfamiliar feeling in the air. He stared into the dark blankly for a moment, trying to parse out some meaning to Dee's quickly shifting emotions before bitterly swallowing back the urge to comment  and moving on.

    “Well, clearly you wanted me here, Dee. The pawn moved where you expected, and now it's your move.” Logan pulled his shoulders back, not allowing his emotions to breach his carefully neutral expression. “So, are you actually able to tell me what happened to my parents or was this merely a ruse to get me alone?”

    The silence hanging in air between them would have been deafening if Logan's heart wasn't pounding in his chest as he waited for Dee’s answer. He stared rebelliously into the subtle reflection of light in Dee’s unblinking eyes for what felt like an eternity, willing himself not to show that even without access to his power, Dee’s cold gaze sent a chill down his arms. Eventually, he couldn’t help but take a step back. His arm brushed the surface of the wall behind him and he jumped, almost missing the words that left Dee’s lips in that moment.

    “You really don’t know anything. Do you?”

     Logan paused, slowly glancing up in the cell as he processed Dee’s words. “What?”

    “You don’t have parents.” Dee stated dryly. “You had Tara. “

    The light Dee’s eyes flickered as he blinked and Logan tensed as he waited for Dee’s to continue.

    “Actually, come to think of it. Tara wouldn’t have been able to resist my invitation either." Dee mused quietly. "It was easy to tempt her with knowledge. I would have pitied the fool who dared stand in her way of what she wanted to know.”

   Logan’s breath caught in his throat as the name seemed to resonate with familiarity in his mind. “T-Tara?”

    “That was your—” Dee snarled with disgust. “—your mother's name. Her full name was Taranis of the Southern Sky, but she went by Tara.”

    “Taranis of the Southern Sky?” Logan spoke slowly tasting unfamiliar words as his mind race. He almost found himself stepping forward in curiosity, but immediately halted, remembering whom he was speaking. With a twitch of a frown, he glared across the line of the cell bars. “Like the planet?”

     Dee’s scoffed at Logan’s timid question, and amusement radiated out of the cell. “Yes. Though in the interest of being entirely accurate, the planet was named after her, not the other way around.”

    Logan narrowed his eyes into the dark, taken aback by the sudden lack of malice in Dee’s voice. “What do you mean?”

    “Humans are nothing but parasites on this land.” Dee drew out his words thoughtfully. “They’re disgustingly cruel, but even I will admit their tendency to connect two completely separate ideas by a mere thread is endlessly amusing.”

    Logan stood motionless, listening to Dee as he reflected nostalgically. He held his breath not wanting to draw Dee out of his seemingly peaceful state by reminding him of who he was speaking to.

    “The planet you’re referring to glows a brilliantly bright blue, just like Tara's lightning.” Dee mused quietly.  “That's all the connection humans needed to connect her power to the celestial body in the southern sky. She even added it to her own name in appreciation of the connection.”

     Logan stared into the darkness, nearly paralyzed in disbelief at what could only be sadness in Dee’s voice. “I-I thought—” Logan paused, staring nervously as Dee's eyes turned up to him. “—I ‘ve read extensively about the mythology associated with Taranis. Everything I’ve read implied that it had been named after a god of thunder.”

     Dee was silent for long time and Logan couldn’t help but jump when he finally let out a deep sigh. “One of humans’ less endearing tendencies is their absolute inability to recognize the value of all of their own members. Some of them may even be tolerable if their leadership wasn’t worthless.”

    Logan was quiet as Dee’s eyes flickered dangerously in the dark.

    “She was a goddess in her own right, though thunder was far from her only claim to power. Humans have oh-so-kindly altered her myth to fit their own narrow view because they’re threatened by someone perceived as feminine having power.” Dee muttered bitterly. “Such petty cowards.”

    “Was?” Logan struggled to keep his voice steady as he stared into the shadows at Dee. Dee started to move, pacing the back of the cell, but Logan forced himself to continue to speak. “You keep using the past tense to refer to her.”

    “Well, I’m shocked.” Dee hummed condescendingly. “Maybe you’re not as much of an idiot as you look.”

    Logan subconsciously took a step back into the wall at the venom that dripped from Dee's words, jumping as his back struck the wall behind him. He gulped, feeling the air shift back to the familiar aura of Dee’s hostility.

    “You heard me correctly, Logan,” Dee’s eyes flickered in the torchlight as he snarled at Logan. “because that traitorous leech condemned her entire race to suffer and then left her only kin to pay her debt.”

    Logan’s heart dropped as Dee stepped forward. His eyes glowed gold as he stared threateningly at Logan as he stuttered out a response. “W-what?”

    “I don't have time to repeat myself, so get this through that thick skull of yours. She bolted. Well over a century ago, she took whatever reward the human king offered her, and fled the country, leaving you to the mercy of the human king. It's really no wonder you grew up to be the prince’s loyal pet.” Dee growled. Logan felt chills creep his neck as Dee’s anger turned to a smug satisfaction. “Not all is lost though. Fortunately for the Fair Folk, in her absence, the debt she owes passes to her next of kin and at the very least, she left us that.”

    “D-debt?” Logan trembled. Even standing in the heat of the flames of the sconce above him, he felt his blood run cold.

    “Surely, your dear prince told you what your mother did,” Dee replied in a disinterested tone. “though clearly he didn’t see fit enough to tell you who you were. I don't imagine you’d be here if he'd simply had the guts to tell you the truth.”

    “What are you—” Logan muttered defensive, feeling his hands start to shake.

    “Tara’s lightning is unmistakable.  There's no way our dear prince didn't know exactly who he was speaking to.” Dee continued unempathetically, barely deigning to look at Logan as he started to crumble.

    Blue lightning.

    Dee's words trailed off as a loud ringing filled Logan’s ears. He slumped clumsily back into the wall behind him. Roman had reacted to his power and the air had flooded with regret.

     He knew.

      Roman knew.

     Logan swallowed, almost choking on the lump in his throat as he slid down the wall. His muscles strained painfully as he became rigid, forcing down a vocal reaction to Dee's words. He squeezed out a few weak words, desperately needing confirmation of his thoughts.

    “She was the Elder Fae.”

    “Finally,” Dee growled impatiently. “Maybe there is a brain cell rattling around in that empty head of yours.”

    “How—” Logan nearly retched as his stomach twisted and he curled closer to the ground. “That was a century ago. How is that—"

     “Stop babbling.” Dee snapped. “Fae live for centuries. We simply age how we choose.”

    "But that can't—" Logan choked on his words as he clenched his hands into fists. “I don't remember anything. I grew up normal—”

    “Please,” Dee sneered. “I definitely don’t have anything better to do than refresh your memory.”

    Logan shivered, barely functioning as he curled his knees to his chest. One thought seemed to keep resurfacing in his mind as grief racked his body.

     Roman knew.

     “Fine. You worthless—” Dee growled derisively, cutting himself off. His eyes narrowed on Logan as he hissed out his words. “She left you in the hands of her master, the human king. We only assumed she took you with her when she fled the country, but it seems she lost no more love leaving you than the rest of us. You were held by the royal family for two generations before we even realized they still had you."

      Logan tilted his head up slowly. Dee’s silhouette stood out slightly against the wisp of moonlight from the narrow window behind him.

    “We knew only Tara's magic could end the curse, so once we realized there was a solution to the Fair Folk's suffering, we set out to take you back. Unfortunately, our mission was ill-fated from the start and before we ever reached you, you disappeared. I personally mesmerized and interrogated every knight and guard in the castle. I even got my hands on that foolish king, but you were gone without a trace.” Dee paused, tone dropping as he grew deadly serious. “So, congratulations. You got two more decades of freedom out of disappearing, but it's time to pay up.”

   “It's all my fault—” Logan dropped his gaze to the ground bitterly, feeling numb to the tremble in his limbs. “An entire generation gone—for me.”

    Dee was silent for a solid minute as he stared at Logan curled against the wall. His gaze drifted up to the torch above Logan, pondering curiously. “I must admit I didn't expect you to take the blame so easily.”

    Logan sucked in a breath as his stomach clenched. “They killed her.”

    Dee blinked in shock. “What?"

    “She died—” Logan dug his nails into his arms at the realization. “She died protecting me.”

    “No—That’s not possible.” Dee whispered and Logan looked up, barely catching sight of the fae's eyes before they disappeared into the dark.

    “The spell—or curse—” Logan whispered quietly. “Whatever term you prefer to use for the enchantment they forced her to cast.” Logan swallowed, casting his eyes to the ground. “R-Roman said that was the last request the king asked of her and it was too much for her to handle.”

    “That’s a lie.” Dee hissed threateningly. “Tara was nothing short of a god. She knew her limit. She would have backed out, if she thought it would kill her. They couldn’t force her hand—”

    “They had me.” Logan whispered quietly, running his fingers through his hair. “They took me from her and threatened to—Gods, it's my fault.”

    Dee sucked in a sharp breath and was quiet as Logan's breath became rapid. When he finally spoke, his voice strained as he attempted to hold back his seething anger. “I don't mean to rain on your pathetic pity party, but no. If that spell killed her, it was because the king drained her dry of all her energy. I told her—I told her it was too much, and she cut me out. I tried to tell her but I never thought she'd take it that far.”

    “She didn’t have a choice. The king left her with no other viable alternatives that would also keep me safe.” Logan felt his stomach unclench slightly at the soft regret in Dee’s voice. He put his hand down, pushing himself up of the ground curiously. “You knew her?”

     “I considered her a friend,” Dee scoffed in disbelief. “though she was clearly a wonderful friend, running off to be some human’s lapdog and cutting off contact with the only people that could have helped her."

    “The choice clearly wasn’t in her control.” Logan muttered defensively.

     “Right, because choosing between her entire race and the allies she'd kept for centuries and you—” Dee sneered condescendingly. “would be a difficult decision.”

    Skin prickling with anger, Logan's gaze narrowed into a glare. “Perhaps she made the right choice cutting you out, if this is how you treat your late friend’s only son.”

      “You hold your tongue or I'll tear it out.” Dee snapped with a guttural growl as he took a step forward.  “You may be her creation, but you’re not her son.”

      Logan growled. “You’re the one who called her my mother—”

      “I needed your attention, you pesky nitwit.” Dee’s voice dripped venom as he glared at Logan down the dark. “You are not worthy of her name. She was a goddess who was able to pluck the rain from the sky and the dirt from the land and she bind them together to make you. You are no more her son than the wind and the rain.” Dee's teeth almost illuminated in the dark as he bared his teeth at Logan. “You're simply a ragdoll she breathed a wisp of life into. Nothing more.”

     “Clearly, she didn’t feel the same.” Logan growled, unable to hide how deeply Dee’s words cut.

    “She was a fool.” Dee's sharp disdain cut through the air as his eyes flickered gold in the dark. “Even if she considered you her child, do you even know how many children have disappeared from their parents over the last century? Do you know how many were orphaned because their parents weren’t strong enough to fight off the humans who were hunting the Fair Folk?”

    Logan swallowed painfully, breath catching in his throat. “I know—"

    “No, you don't.” Dee hissed venomously. “Don’t pretend you have even a shred of understanding of how many lives were sacrificed to spare yours. Fae disappear and are smuggled over the border to be used for whatever power they have left. They drained of their will to live. They—”

    “She didn’t know.” Logan whispered quietly, guilt rising in his throat as empathy welled in his chest. “R-Roman said even the king couldn’t have predicted the destruction—"

    “What a comfort for the families whose lives were destroyed by their negligence.” Dee spat. His voice gradually raised in volume as emotion crackled in the air around him. “Who could have possibly predicted that humans would take advantage of the weakened fae?”

     Logan looked up suddenly as a gasp escaped Dee’s lips. The sound of metal clanging filled the air as Logan tipped his head up to see Dee’s dark silhouette bent over staring at his wrist.

    “Dee?”

    Dee's eyes shot up to him with a feral growl as Logan suddenly scrambled back to the wall behind him. Dee hissed as Logan rushed to dislodge the torch from the wall and crouched back into the dark as Logan spun back around to rush the metal bars.

      “Dee, you’re hurt.” Logan whispered breathlessly. He bit his lip, stomach twisting in empathy as the torchlight revealed streaks of red on Dee’s wrists.

      “Keep my name out of your mouth.” Dee snapped. “I don’t want your pity.”

    “You need treatment—” Logan muttered, ignoring Dee's hostile remarks. “I'll get Roman—”

     “If you bring that prince anywhere near me, I'll tear out his pretty throat with my bare teeth—”

     “Virgil, then.” Logan pleaded, suddenly growing frantic as blood dripped from his wrist."

     “No.” The wounded fae snarled, baring his teeth at Logan as he paced the bars.

     “I can't open the door without assistance—”

     “Then, don't.” Dee snapped with a menacing step forward. “I didn’t ask you for help.”

    “I don't accept that.” Logan's mind raced as stared at figure of Dee crouched over in the dim light of the back of the cell. His eyes widened as he noticed dark pools at the fae's feet. “I'll be back in a moment.”

    “Where do you think you’re going, Logan?” Dee stepped forward, metal clanging as he rushed the bars. "We're not finished here."

      Logan bit his lip, feeling a wave of guilt as he took in the full extent of Dee's injuries. A mixture of dried blood mixed with fresh as it streaked down his arms. He softened his expression. “There is a medical kit near the guard's quarters that I was able to raid for supplies for the antidote for Roman's poison. It was well stocked.”

    Dee gritted his teeth silently, unable to stop Logan as he turned to place the torch back in it's holder.

    “I'll only be a minute.” Logan whispered  apologetically, briefly glancing back at Dee's deathly glare he ducked through the archway.

    Getting to the medical kit proved to be as little of a challenge as it had been the first time he'd raided their stash of supplies for ingredients. Fortunately, they seemed to have restocked from his last encounter and even added to their extensive supply. His face twisted in disgust. Realistically, he knew he should be grateful he hadn’t needed to go far for supplies, but the sight of the growing collection sent bile rising in his throat.

     Logan knew all too well the supplies were kept stock for when Remus pushed too far on his victims. There's no mistake that this was here to keep the prisoners comfortable. There had been many instances where he'd been left to bleed in the dirt without concern for him to believe that, but the few times he'd been truly afraid he may not survive the night, Remus had allowed one of the guards to haphazardly treat his wounds. The unforgettable experience of his wounds being treated so roughly sent shudders down his body, but he'd survived, perhaps thanks to the clumsy treatment he'd been granted. Still—He clenched his jaw, refocusing his energy away from the uncomfortable memory.

     Subtle, colors filled the air as he quietly dug through the various pouches of herbs and oils, trying to guess what he might actually need. He’d only gotten a cursory glance at Dee’s injuries and hadn’t dared ask the already seething fae for a closer inspection.

    What am I doing?

    I mean, he knew he couldn’t just leave Dee to bleed out. He didn't have that cruelty in his heart, but nothing was stopping him from grabbing Roman or Virgil at this point. He'd walked away unscathed, and he knew they'd certainly help him if he asked, but he couldn't bring himself to break the small amount of trust Dee had placed in him letting him walk away.

    Not that he'd had a lot of options.

  Logan clenched his jaw and quickly hooked the waterskin he'd swiped from the guard's supplies on to his belt loop and shoved the rest of the bandages and a collection of salves and oils into his bag. He groaned and pushed himself back up toward the door, quickening his pace. Subtly, he gave a brief pause at the door, listening quietly at the door. He paused before pushing himself through the crack and making his way back to Dee's cell. Logan edged along the shadows near the walls as he deftly avoided the unobservant guards patrolling hallway of cells. His anxiety started build, creeping across his skin as he approached the figurative lion's den once more.

     Logan slowed as he tiptoed into the hallway with Dee’s cell. He could see a subtle cloud of colors drifting out of his bag carried by the wind back the way he'd came. He could taste the herbs on the air as he stopped quietly in the hall outside the door, listening intently.

    He heard a subtle whisper as he crept across the threshold toward Dee. Listening intently, he peered around the corner as the whispers stopped. Logan looked into the dark corners of the cell as he turned the corner, immediately spotting Dee’s eyes glowing their usual bright gold.

     Logan stared curiously at Dee, who seemed to be too distracted to notice Logan re-entering the room. He carefully traced Dee's line of sight to the far corner of the room as he let out a distinct hiss while he appeared to stare at nothing. Logan froze in place, miscalculating a step as Dee's cold stare turned to him.

    “Oh, good.” Dee snipped. The glow of his eyes flickered with exhaustion as he watched Logan slowly unfreeze and move quietly to the cell door. “My daring hero has returned from his harrowing journey that was absolutely not pointless—”

    “Shut up.” Logan muttered in an exhausted tone as he grabbed the torch out of it's holder and turned to scan the walls of the cell. “You need treatment.”

    “You can't get to me.” Dee spat coldly. "Therefore, this venture was pointless."

    “I can, actually.” Logan stated dryly.

    Dee paused, staring at him suspiciously. “How?”

    “You'll see soon enough.” Logan’s chest tightened nervously as he turned to face the wall behind him. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the lockpicking set Virgil had given him. He hesitated, fidgeting with the tools in his hand as he cautiously kept the picks out of Dee’s sight. Picking the lock to the cell door would certainly easy enough. Virgil had implied that the locks in the dungeons were of amateur design, but doing so was as good as showing his hand to a man who seemed determined to prove himself Logan’s enemy, and Logan certainly couldn't see how that was a wise course of action.

    Logan sighed, defeated. He couldn’t knowingly walk away while Dee was in his current condition, not even to fetch Roman. So, he steeled his stare and turned to move to the cell door fiddling with his picks.

    “What are you doing?” Dee hissed the demand, staring at him..

    “I think it is very apparent what I attempting to do.”  Logan growled back. “Unfortunately, if you have questions, they will have to wait as I need to focus.”

    Dee seemed to bite back a sour retort as Logan slid the first pick into the narrow lock. He glared silently at Logan, but allowed him to work in peace as he got a feel for the pins. Logan glanced up at Dee’s unblinking stare as he manipulated the last pin into place. He knew he could simply pop the lock open, but he let the pin fall out of place, but Dee’s injuries didn't appear to be an immediate threat to his life. To be perfectly fair, if he was being forced to show his hand on his new skill, he still didn't have to reveal to Dee that he was good at it. A few minutes passed as Logan played up his lack of skill, smiling subtly as Dee grew frustrated.

    “Why don’t you give up? You obviously don’t—"

    A single pop from the metal of the cell  door stopped Dee’s statement in it's tracks. Logan couldn’t help the smug smile that spread across his face as Dee watched him slowly push open the cell door.

    “Stay away from me.”

    “I think we've established that's not going to happen.” Logan chided softly as he stepped forward. He kneeled down in front of the fae and held out his hand  to Dee expectantly. “Give me your wrist.”

    The scales on his face glowed a dull yellow as Dee hissed threateningly at Logan as he kneeled beside him, but much to his surprise Logan simply hissed back at him. Anger burned in Dee's eyes at the response. “Don’t treat me like a feral animal.”

    “Don’t act like a feral animal.” Logan grunted as he gestured sternly for Dee to extend his wrist. He felt a small surge of empathy as he met Dee’s gaze. His scales dull glimmer gave away the exhaustion he was so clearly trying to hide.

     Dee's heated glare would have withered his willpower away in any other circumstances, but right now, he had a job to do. His focus narrowed as Dee reluctantly held out his wrist. The wounds were not immediately apparent under the layers of dried blood, so Logan reached into his bag, pulling out a cloth to wet with his waterskin.

     “Tell me if this hurts.” Logan muttered, not looking up. "I can be more gentle, if I need to."

     “Like you’d care.” Dee hissed back, flinching at the feeling of the cold water as the cloth brushed his skin.

    “I do care.”

    Dee paused, staring at Logan uncertainly. “Why?”

    “I simply don’t glean pleasure from seeing others in pain,” Logan whispered as he gently began to work away the layers of blood.

    Dee scoffed quietly. “Well, I certainly have not extended you the same courtesy, so surely some part of you enjoys the reversal of power.”

    “I want to help you, Dee. Any power you claim I have over you exists purely in your own perspective.” Logan stated without glancing up. He examined Dee’s wrist closely, knowing he couldn’t proceed with the cuff around Dee’s forearm in the way. He tilted his head up to Dee’s golden eyes. “I’m going to take your bind off, but I expect for it to go back after I've finished.”

    “Starting to give commands already,” Dee muttered. “How noble our sweet ragdoll is.”

    “I don't enjoy seeing you bound either, but I'm no fool.” Logan pulled out his tools and started to slide the pick into the lock, allowing his focus to drift from Dee’s intense stare. “You’ve made your feelings perfectly clear and I'm not interested in being a willing target of your rage.”

    Dee was quiet as the first cuff popped open and Logan froze as it revealed several deep gashes underneath the cuff. Large, red welts raised on his arm around the cuff, an indicator of the powerful fae’s reaction to the metal. The welts and irritation were to be expected but Logan couldn’t deny the cuts looked more purposeful.

    “The guards haven’t noticed your injuries?” Logan whispered, gently rolling Dee’s wrist to get a better look.

    “You know firsthand they simply don’t care, especially since I’m not human to begin with.” Dee growled avoiding his gaze.

    “But they should have reported it so that Roman could have done some—”

    “Your idiot prince has no idea about my injuries. I can assure you of that.” Dee replied bitterly.

    Logan swallowed, not wanting to admit the relief that washed over him at the thought that Roman had not been the one to be negligent of the fae's injuries. He bit his lip as he dropped his gaze. “Still, surely the guard would’ve approached Remus, given your relationship.”

    “Bold of you to assume that Remus was not the source of my injuries.” Dee whispered tiredly.

    Logan paused, looking up at him in horror. “I thought—"

    “You thought wrong.” Dee cut him off, and Logan looked up to see him staring distantly over Logan’s shoulder. “I told you there was no affection between us.”

    “Still,” Logan whispered. “I didn’t imagine he would hurt you.”

    “It's my own fault really. I should have predicted he would become destructive if left to his own devices. He can't resist the temptation of  hurting someone powerful when they're helpless in front of him.” Dee whispered quietly, still staring absently over Logan’s shoulder. “I’ve been his keeper long enough to know it's the way he was created.”

    “His keeper?” Logan asked, his voice carefully neutral as he listened curiously.

    Dee seemed to tense with the realization of what he'd said, but Logan remained patient. He kept working at Dee's injuries gently applying the soothing salve to his irritated injuries. The methodic movements seemed to lull Dee into speaking the words he seemed to desperately want to say.

    “You may be the key to undoing the curse that Tara placed on us, but that doesn’t mean that the Seelie and Unseelie courts simply rolled over and gave up when you disappeared.” Dee started tiredly. His voice hung heavy in his throat as he watched Logan begin to wrap his arm. “There was a plot. When Roman and Remus were born, the courts were reeling with grief from the loss of our chance at redemption. You were gone, and with your disappearance, the courts lost all hope of lifting the enchantment. It was a dark time for our people, and in their grief, for the first time in nearly three centuries, they made the choice to create a changeling."

    Logan paused as pinned off the end of Dee's bandages and moved to the next arm. He hung his head as he listened, pulling his lockpicks out of his pocket as he started on the second cuff

    “They wanted to fell the humans from the inside out, create a kink in their rule that would destabilize their monarchy and maybe give us a chance to survive their systematic destruction. Unfortunately, as had been the case so many times, the universe seemed determined to foil our attempt at salvation.” Dee watched absently as the second cuff fell off his wrist, barely reacting as Logan set to work on clearing the blood off of the deep cuts. “Despite popular belief, changelings can't be created on a whim. They take seven years to grow and nurture for the right traits before they can be switched. Continuing our stellar streak of luck, on the night of their birth, a lock of hair was taken from the kings' son and the process of creation had begun. No one realized until later that twins had been born and we had created a changeling of the wrong child.”

  Logan gently lifted his head as he worked the blood on Dee’s wrist, glad to see a slight glimmer to Dee's scales. “Why not simply correct the mistake and start over?”

    “The lock of hair must been taken before  the moon sets on the night of their birth.” Dee voice hung heavy in the air as he leaned against the wall. “We didn’t learn about the twins until weeks later. So, we had a choice. Work with what we had created or wait another generation to try again.”

    “So, why you?” Logan asked quietly as he returned his gaze to the salve he was spreading on Dee's wrists. "How did Remus end up in your hands?"

    “I have acted as the Seelie court’s ambassador to Unseelie court for well over a century.” Dee whispered sadly. “Actually, Tara had acted the Unseelie ambassador until she disappeared.”

    “She was a dark fae?” Logan whispered.

    “Dark and light have different meaning to the Fair Folk.” Dee growled in discontent. “Neither is good nor evil. They simply exist to balance the other.”

    Logan looked up at the serious expression on Dee's face and nodded slowly, still processing the new information.  He reached to his bag, pulling out a new strip of bandages.

    “Remus was created to spread misery. He was meant to fell a kingdom, but we knew he'd need guidance. Tara’s replacement had led the mission to collect you, so the representative of the Seelie court became responsible for Remus.” Dee sighed. “I became responsible for him. Still, nothing we seemed to do was enough, and once Roman acquired his pet—” Dee stalled as Logan glared at him. “Once he acquired Virgil, he was untouchable. He overrode every bad decision Remus threw at him. We thought the game was over when Remus' bored attempt to murder the prince somehow turned up you.”

    Logan pinned the end of the bandage in place and glared up at Dee defensively.

    “Your eyes glowed while he was having his fun with you in the dungeons. That's how he knew. Honestly, you probably could have fried the little bastard if it weren’t for the shackles so conveniently placed on your wrists.” Dee snipped as he pulled his wrist back from Logan. "Fortunately, you weren't so lucky."

     “You seem as determined as ever to hate me.” Logan whispered quietly, shoving his supplies into his bag. He glanced down at the shackles on the ground, but made no attempt to force Dee to replace them.

    “I can't afford to believe that any piece of her lives in you. If I did, I may not have the willpower to finish what I started.” Dee replied coldly. “You have a debt to pay and if you won’t own up to it—”

   “I will.”

   “What?”

    “Whatever it takes, no more lives will be sacrificed in my name.” Logan whispered, looking up at Dee’s subtly shimmering scales. “Show me what I need to do.”

    Dee scanned his face, taken aback by Logan’s words. He watched curiously before testing Logan’s truthfulness. “Fine. Let me go.”

   “I can't. Not yet. ” Logan added as Dee's eyes stare distrustfully up at him. He brushed himself off, glancing out the cell door. “I’m going to fetch Roman.”

   “What?” Dee hissed, his mouth hanging agape.

    “I'll do whatever it takes to end this, Dee. I give you my word.” Logan promised, holding his wrist tightly. “My life is in your hands, but I want Roman there. Whatever happens to me, I want him there.”

    “I can’t let you do that, Logan.” Dee warned with a growl. "Don't walk out that door."

    Logan took a step backwards towards the exit, holding up his hands in reassurance. “I promise I’ll return. My word is goo—”

    A grunt escaped Logan lips as a body slammed into him from behind. Instinctively, he moved to slip out of his attacker’s grip but their grip was iron tight. He struggled for a moment, blue sparks erupting from his arms until he was forced onto his chest with a painful thump. He gasped a metal shackles latched around his wrists and his lightning vanished. He gasped, feeling his power dissipate as a familiar giggle sounded behind him.

    “Oh, pretty boy.” Remus chirped happily in Logan’s ear. “For a second there, I thought Dee wasn’t going to let me out to play. He gets awful sappy when he talks about his dead friend—”

    “Get off him and give me the key, Remus.” Dee ordered, not looking up at Logan as he shamefully hung his head.

    “Dee, please.” Logan begged as Remus pulled him to his knees. He watched helplessly Remus tossed a brass key at Dee’s feet. “I said I’d do whatever you asked.”

    “Gag him.”

    “No—” Logan started to squirm, but Remus was prepared. He held him easily as he slipped a piece of cloth between Logan’s teeth.

     “You had to have known I'd prepared for your visit, didn't you?” Dee drawled lazily as the binds around his neck and legs fell free. Immediately, he took a deep breath as the light from his eyes glowed brighter and a bright shimmer passed  down the scales on his face and hands. “Nothing I've done has been left to chance. I kidnapped your prince and forced your hand on learning to use your power on your friends. I offered you the temptation of knowledge and tricked you into prying a confession out of that oaf of a prince. This was all planned for you to end up here understanding exactly why this is your burden to bear.”

    Logan glared at him, shivering as Remus’ hands grasped his shoulders. Dee stepped toward him, raising a finger to trace the scar on his face. He nearly collapsed to the ground at the reminder of the last time he’d spent helpless with Remus.

    “Our dear Remus has the unique ability to become undetectable when he needs to and fortunately you stepped right into my trap as predicted.” Dee smirked as his finger slid down Logan’s face. “The only thing I didn’t predict was your willingness to sacrifice yourself to make things right. Truly, that was a noble offer and one that won't go unnoted." Dee grinned as Logan's head shot down to the ground. "Maybe there truly is a glimmer of Tara behind those bright eyes.” Dee whispered as Logan hung his head to his chest as tears blurred his vision. “I don't want you to think this is personal, Logan. I’d be much happier walking you into this willingly, but I can’t take a chance that your prince wouldn’t be so honorable, so I'm sorry." Dee smiled sympathetically as Logan struggle in Remus' grip. "Truly I am, but too many people are relying on me to finish this for me to take chances.”

    Logan slumped back, defeated in Remus’ grip. Dee's gaze only lingered on him for a moment before he tore his gaze away and looked up to Remus.

     “Get him out of the castle. I will meet you at our rendezvous point,” Dee order sternly. “and Remus?”

      Logan shivered as Remus’ hand brushed his neck. He resisted the urge to retch as Remus grip on tightened on his shoulder, but the feeling only lasted a moment as Remus' hand was immediately yanked away from him. He flinched, expecting a blow to the side of his head, but when none came, he timidly looked up to see Dee holding Remus’ hand away from him. Both the men's eyes glowed brightly in the dim light as they stared at each other. Logan froze watching as power radiated through the air between them. An uncomfortable minute passed before Remus’ glowing green eyes flickered and returned to their normal color. Dee continued to stare at the changeling, voice dripping with power as he continued.

   “Not one hand on him that’s not absolutely necessary.” Dee hissed threateningly as Remus bowed his head submissively. “If even one hair on his head is out of place when I retrieve him from you, I will make you regret existing. Do you understand?”

    “If control’s what you’re into, I’m not objecting," Remus quipped with a chuckle. "but I really think we should talk about these thing beforehand—”

    “Answer me, Remus." Dee growled impatiently.

    Remus glared at him petulantly, but eventually he turned his head down with a snarl. “Fine. Pretty boy stays in good condition until you come to fetch your toy.”

    “Good, then go. I'll meet you as we planned,” Dee ordered sternly, shamefully avoiding the horrified look in Logan’s eyes as he pulled his sleeves over the bandages on his arms.

    “Alrighty then, pest.” Remus’ high  pitched chuckle sent shivers up his spine. “Time for a nap."

    Logan’s cry was muffled to a whimper as Remus pressed a cloth against his nose and mouth. He struggled in Remus' grip. The corners of his vision darkened as his movements weakened. He fought to remain conscious, but the battle was already lost. Regret flooded over him as his muscles stopped reacting and he drifted restlessly into an uncomfortable sleep.

---

Chapter Warnings: Restraints, Anger, Angst, Death Mentions, Lashing Out, Mentions of Kidnapping, Medical Treatment, Injuries, Blood, Guilt, Very brief unintentional self-harm, mentions of genocide, Drugging, Actual Kidnapping, Unsympathetic/Questionable Janus/Deciet

General Taglist:

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You Belong With Me Taglist:

@cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname @ironwoman359 @i-know-im-smart @imbadatnames8d @croftersphoenix @optimistic-violinist @chronicallynervouschild @croftersjam15 @actitus-hypoleucos @unbefuckinglieveable @justthatamount @eeveeeclair246 @taxicabinmemphis @theoddkidnextdoor @dwbh888

[notchesandbullets]

Ryokuryuu’s Lifeline

Part 7: The Trap

"Stay away from me!" You hissed venomously as he came closer to you. The officers had done exactly what you had expected them to do: they brought you directly to their boss.

The man everyone was after, Lord Yang Kum-ji of Awa.

They had tried to toy with you, but you refused to give in, fighting with everything you had at your disposal. Only Kum-ji hadn't been that interested in you at first, giving you the opportunity to attach a piece of green metallic cloth on the ship's flag, smirking as the lookout didn't check it and let the color fly. You had planned on staying silent, keeping your head down after you fulfilled what you promised Captain Gi-gan in your letter, but when he started tormenting the two girls across from you who were chained, you couldn't take it anymore. You shouldered your way in front of them, sheltering them behind your body.

You bared your teeth in a vicious snarl to ward him off but Kum-ji ignored your threatening displays. It was clear that he didn't recognize you, eyes light with greed and corrupted hunger, instead of being dark with vengeance.

It was best that you didn't provoke him or jog his memory, so you bowed your head and whimpered, attempting to appear pitiful.

Kum-ji sneered at you, "The pretty lamb doesn't want to play anymore? What happened to all your fire you had just a minute ago?" He taunted.

You didn't fake the flinch as your body reacted to his words, seemingly submitting to his display of power. Your breath came out shaky as you struggled to hold onto the slipping image of Jae-ha in your mind.

His soft green hair.

His vibrant lilac eyes.

The gentle smile that he reserved only for you.

You stiffened as he shackled your wrists behind your back and your feet together. Jae-ha would want you to fight against him. He would want you to come back to him. The lies of not being good enough to deserve his love faded into the background as you looked at it clearly for the first time.

You did deserve to be loved. You were loved.

"You're not getting away from me this time." He spat.

Ah, so he did remember you.

Well, that was unfortunate.

He would have a hell of a time trying to escape the wrath of your family.

Your family.

Kum-ji snickered, assuming that he had finally broken you when tears of anger blurred your vision.

But he couldn't. He couldn't even touch you. What you had probably put Jae-ha through hurt indefinitely more than his words ever could.  You had to make it out alive to see him.

To beg for his forgiveness.

You bared your teeth ferociously and Kum-ji's eyes widened at your defiance.

You had stayed in that shadowy room for the whole day. He had ended up chaining you to the bedpost at one point because of how much you were trying to defend the obviously terrified girls by his feet. You used the moves Jae-ha and Captain Gi-gan taught you, breaking free of his hold countless times. He was growing quickly frustrated with you, enlisting the help of his men to keep you still while he taught you a lesson, roughly kicking your stomach until you couldn't lift yourself up anymore.

You knew you wouldn't win against them all, so you struck a bargain with him.

"Let them go, and I'll do whatever you want."

Yang Kum-ji's sadistic smile was less than satisfying, but you needed the girls out of the room and out of harm's way if you were to carry out the next part of your plan. You knew he liked submissive women, that he viewed them not as people, but rather things that needed to look pretty on an arm and not speak. It was clear that he was going to call them back once he was done with you.

You weren't going to give him the opportunity.

You stayed awake the entire day, well into the night, lashing out when he got too close to you, but he came back and struck you in the face with the back of his hand. Your face turned to the side under the force of his blow, spitting out blood. Your head was throbbing in pain, and your right eye threatened to shut under the swelling, bruises forming around it.

You made sure not to intake anything he tried to force you down your throat, knowing it was most likely either drugged or poisoned, but your body was bearing the consequences as you felt exhaustion weigh down your limbs. You weren't used to the lack of food and water, and it was shutting your functions down.

"Throw her in with the others!" He commanded, fed up with your games.

A minute later, you were blindfolded and thrown below deck. You could smell the seawater and feel the slime of seaweed slicked on the floor once they tossed you down.

It wasn't all quiet once they left. You could hear the girls' panicked whispers rise to terrified shouts as one of them started banging on the locked door.

"It's impossible," An unfamiliar voice cut through the atmosphere, silencing everyone. "I was put in here two weeks ago. Nobody came to get me out. To Lord Kum-ji, we're no different than objects."

She sounded defeated... hopeless...

You had to do something. You wriggled into a sitting position, iron cuffs clinking together as you tried to prop yourself up as best as you could with the restrictions.

"Haven't you ever," You stopped struggling, ears straining to hear more as you questioned if you heard right. "... wanted to change this town?"

Yona!

That meant Yoon was here, too...

"Yoon..." You mumbled softly, and within a second your blindfold was tugged off, revealing a battered but relieved genius pretty boy.

"Y/N!" He shuffled behind you, trying to pry off your cuffs, but stopped when you winced in pain.

"Ah..." You hissed, and Yoon pulled back in alarm. "It's fine, just leave it."

Your arms were cuffed behind you, but you scooted backward, bringing your hands underneath your hips and around your ankles so that they were now in front of you.

"Are you hurt?" Your eyes scanned over Yoon's shaking form. Yona was whispering words of inspiration to the disheartened girls, encouraging them to reach out a hand back if someone reaches out theirs to help them. He shook his head and you felt relieved.

"What she's saying it's true," You supported Yona's indirect claim of aligning with the pirates, who unbeknownst to them, were making their way to the ships right then and there. "We're going to escape and we're going to rescue you all. Will you let us?"

Their eyes shimmered with forbidden hope.

"Yoon," You mumbled, and he leaned forwards, straining to hear you. "Where's the firework?"

"In my sash," Came the quiet reply, "It's small but it'll shoot high."

You nodded, now informed. "We've got to get on deck." You mused. "I'll clear a path for you."

Yona and Yoon's eyes widened. It was dimly lit in the cargo hold, but they could still make out the many injuries on your face, blood dripping down from your forehead and Yoon noticed how you kept your arms pressed to your stomach, as if to alleviate the pain.

Together, you tricked one of the guards to come down by banging your restraints against each other, and he clambered down to investigate the noise. Yoon shot a tranquilizer dart at him halfway down, and Yona yanked at the rope by his feet, causing the guard to lose his footing and knock his head against the steps.

Your eyes widened as you heard the sound of cries ringing faintly through the air and swords clashing together.

The battle's started.

"Yoon, we've got to hurry!" You hissed.

"I'll help too." The girl who had seemed so desolate and hopeless before was standing with determination. "My father was a ship's carpenter, I know the layout."

Yona beamed at her offer and she introduced herself as Yuri. Quickly you all made your way out of the ship's cargo hold as silently as you could, not wanting to attract any attention this late into the plan. There were two guards near the entrance leading up to the deck and you gestured for the three of them to hide behind you.

"I'll get their attention, run past them when you have an opening." You instructed firmly. Yona began to protest, voice cracking with anguish at having to leave you behind again, but stopped when she felt your hand resting on your head. "Send up the flare. The girls are our first priority."

Yuri looked between you and Yona, noting the reluctance the red-haired girl had at the idea of parting with you. "I'll help her."

You gave her a nod of thanks, turning swiftly back to Yoon and Yona beside you. "Go. Keep each other safe."

Yoon nodded, pulling Yona behind him to hide behind some crates as they waited for you to make the first move. "Yuri, stay behind me. Do your best to not get captured, that's more important than anything else, understand?"

She dipped her head in understanding, surprised at the turn you took from gentle older sister to merciless battle tactician.

You stepped out into the guards' line of sight, waving at them seductively, eyes hooded. They shouted as they saw you, and you led them towards the back of the ship. Yuri was hidden in the shadows, and you saw Yona and Yoon dart out from their hiding place, effectively making it onto the deck as the guards were distracted by you.

You sidestepped their sloppy attacks easily, enlisting the aid of the swaying ship to time it perfectly. As it swayed to the side abruptly, they became unbalanced and you saw your chance. Lunging at them, you tackled the first one, causing his sword to slide out of sight. The second one didn't get much farther as Yuri hit him over the head, knocking him out. You gave her a subtle glance of approval.

You heard whistling as the firework was launched into the air.

"Go back below deck, free and then gather up the rest of the girls. There will be a lot of shouting above you, don't come out until it dies down, okay?" You ordered, urging her back down.

She hastily nodded and you sprinted towards the hatch, bursting out onto the deck, gagging at the think stench of blood in the air. You saw a flash of crimson hair from the right and your body filled with dread as your eyes landed on the sight in front of you.

Yoon was tied up and getting beaten by a bunch of mercenaries, and Yona was shooting anyone who came close to him with a bow and arrow.

You ignored the question of how she obtained that, opting to kick aside one of the guards attempting to sneak up on her instead of asking how she managed to get her hands on a weapon. The others turned their attention towards you and you grinned, but then you remembered your hands and feet were still chained together.

Time to have some fun then...

You pushed Yona to the side as one of them went to grab her by the hair, effectively grabbing you instead. You snarled, wrapping your cuffed hands around the back of his neck, bringing it down as your knee came up to smash into his chin.

"K-Kill her!" Came the shaky order as he looked at his comrade who laid in a pool of his own blood.

Your tongue grazed over your teeth lightly, poking out of your parted lips that were curled in a confident smirk.

Their numbers quickly overwhelmed you, and you crashed into the floor, face shoved roughly against the wood. You resigned, closed your eyes and accepted your fate.

I 'm sorry, Jae-ha...

Then, wind whipped around you as a familiar set of robes fluttered in front of you, emerald green hair darting into view.

The mercenaries cried out fearfully. "W-Who are you?!"

"I'm the pirate who has submerged countless ships... the pirate who dances through the skies. But more importantly," Violet eyes glinted dangerously, "You had better not approach me recklessly."

Jae-ha growled, "I'll kill you."

[babbushka]

Thank you for taking requests! I love your work! How would flip deal with someone cat calling you, ogling you, being creepy toward you, etc?

Anonymous said: Thought/prompt for you: Flip seeing you dealing with some form of jackassery and feeling so proud and turned on at how much of a bad ass his wife is!!! Thank you for being so generous with your writing! I love it all!!!

(combining these two! 1.6k, warnings for verbal harrassment to reader, minor violence/aggression but nothing bad i promise)

If you asked anyone when the last time they heard Flip yell was, they’d be pretty damn hard pressed to come up with an answer. He’s a reserved kind of guy, content to sit back and observe with a judgmental eye and a smoke, maybe a quick remark here or there. He was dry and sarcastic and deadpan, but yelling? That wasn’t something that popped up all that often.

You always forget, how loud he can yell. You forget the way his face will pinch up in rage, forget the way the veins in his neck will pulse with red hot blood, forget the way that he tenses and snaps to strike -- until you both catch an earful of jeers and kisses being blown at you from across the street.

You and Flip were taking advantage of the good weather when it happened. Sunny days, clear skies, not a cloud for miles on end. It had been the perfect opportunity for a stroll around the block, a smelling the roses sort of day. So, to breathe in the fresh Spring air and stretch your legs, you and Flip ventured downtown to where all the parks and ice cream shops lived, where the streets were lined with flower-beds and people were walking dogs that they let you pet if you asked.

As a matter of fact, you had just said goodbye to a woman and her happy-go-lucky golden retriever and were walking hand in hand with your husband when you heard it. A sharp whistle alerted your attention, and you and Flip stop dead in your tracks.

“Hey baby!” A man’s voice carries across the street, as cars leisurely cross the intersection.

“Why don’t you bend over again, that was a damn good view honey.” Another voice joins in, before a raucous round of laughter and a, “Great ass doll!”

Time seems to stand still for a minute, and then your husband is whirling around, giving the nastiest glare he could possibly muster. You’re still holding hands, but his brows are furrowed into an offended frown.

“Hey!” He shouts, harsh and sharp, like a whip cracking across the street.

The noise stuns the men, and even from where they’re leaning up against the shady brick wall of a pharmacy, they can see the way Flip’s teeth are bared, the way his nose is scrunched up, some animalistic feral thing.

“Let me handle this, stay here.” You say immediately, as your own blood simmers, as your own quick-fire temper at being treated like that starts to bubble up to the surface.

Flip does as he’s told with great restraint, standing there and lighting up another cigarette, smoking two at a time so he doesn’t just beat their faces into oblivion. You wait for the light to turn red and the little crossing sign to flash, and then your prim and proper heels are carrying you down the crosswalk.

Their smiles are all but gone now, especially when you fold your hands across your chest and step too close to them, taking up all their space, their confidence and ego rapidly beginning to shrink.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You spit, venom flying in their face like acid rain.

“H-huh?” One of them, you don’t know their names they’re all ugly and they all look alike, stutters, flattening himself to the wall to try and get away from you and your rage.

“’Huh?’ You heard me, you think it’s okay to talk to people like that? What, you scumbags don’t have anything better to do?” You wonder if they’ve ever been called out on their behavior before, wonder if they’ve ever been confronted for it.

“Aw sweetheart we were just – ” Another of the guys dares to put his hand on your shoulder, a patronizing gesture that has your eye twitching.

“You don’t get to fucking call me sweetheart.” You twist his arm until you hear a crack, until he yelps out in pain, and shove his back against the wall hard and shake your head, “Oh you’ve done it now.”

Behind you the sound of cars honking their horn blare, as Flip cuts across the street even though the light is green and the convertibles are moving through the intersection. He doesn’t have the right of way, but when they see where Flip’s headed, they understand.

It all happens so quickly then, Flip coming to your side, standing in front of you and these men.

There’s a group of four of them, but none of them are even half as strong as Flip, and he grabs the one who touched you by the throat, pins him up against the wall of the pharmacy. Around you on the sidewalk, people are stopped and staring in shock.

“You ever – ever put your hands on her again and I’ll cut them the fuck off, you hear me?” Flip shouts, face red with rage, almost the same shade as the guy he’s nearly choking out.

“We were just playing around – ” One of the other guys attempts to get Flip off of his friend, to no avail. They push on Flip’s arms, but Flip’s too strong, he doesn’t budge.

“You want to play around you go to the fucking park and get yourself a goddamned frisbee, I oughta break your wrists for the fucking stunt you’re pulling here.” Flip lets the guy go, drops him down to the floor where he gasps for breath.

“No! No don’t please – please we didn’t mean it I swear – !” The third guy immediately resorts to begging, now that he can see just what Flip’s capable of.

“What did you mean? You think it’s decent to go around saying shit like that to someone? To a stranger?” You pipe up finally, never understanding the logic. Not that you really cared, but you wanted to make them feel bad for it.

“I – well – I -- !” The original guy, the one who had whistled at you, scrambles.

“Apologize. Now.” Flip yanks him by the scruff of his neck and forces him to face you. His voice was deadly low and even, as he grabs the other guys, makes them stand in a line and bow their head.

“We’re sorry, we – ” They all start, but Flip shakes his head.

“Like you fucking mean it!” He yells.

“Sorry! We’re very sorry we swear ma’am, we won’t do it again, we swear.” They all speak over one another, these four jackasses tripping over their tongues to be picture perfect polite.

“You better not do it again. What would your mothers say if they knew you were out here doing this?” You shook your head, holding a hand out for Flip to take.

He’s drawn to you like a magnet, and he takes the hand quickly, grips it a little too tight. His hands are so big, you’re happy to feel it against your palm, even if he is a little sweaty from all the anger.

“The only reason I haven’t beat the shit out of you is because she wouldn’t want that.” Flip says, angry angry angry, and they get it, they know.

“Yes sir! Yes, we’re sorry – ” They try, and finally, Flip steps away from them.

“Good. Now get the fuck out of here.” He takes a menacing drag of his cigarette, and the men bolt, running as fast as they can. Flip sucks down some nicotine before tossing his voice in their direction, “If I ever see or hear you punks on this corner again I’ll have you arrested for loitering and harassment you fucking understand me?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but they shout out something terrified and indistinguishable anyway. Flip’s chest heaves when they’re out of sight, having run off around the corner to who knew where, and he turns to you. Around him, the people on the sidewalk break out into an impressed applause, and the pink in Flip’s cheeks is for an altogether different reason.

“Thank you.” You cup his cheeks, feeling how hot his face is, despite the gentle breeze that fluffs his hair.

“You okay?” Flip searches your face, and you smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Kiss?” You ask, puckering up for him. He’s quick to swoop down for a smacking kiss to your lips, and he winds an arm around your shoulders. You sling yours around his waist and cross the street, asking, “What do you say we get ourselves a vanilla cone?”

“Alright, but only if they have the rainbow sprinkles.” Flip grumbles, in a pretty bad mood now, but still willing to save what’s left of the day.

“This is probably not the best time but…honey that was pretty hot.” You can’t help but bite the inside of your cheek, let out a breathy laugh.

He arches a brow at you, and you only return the look. He doesn’t smile, but you can tell he’s starting to get into a better place because he hums out a little moment of contemplation, smokes his cigarette and tucks you close as you walk.

“How about you and I go get that ice cream, and we find a nice quiet spot in the park to enjoy it, hm?” He asks, and you know he’s just as affected as you.

With ice cream and hot make-out sessions under a tree, you can’t help but smile against his lips. Because just like that, the memory of the afternoon seemed almost like a dream. You both knew there’d be some explaining to do down at the station, but you weren’t too concerned.

It wasn’t often that he snapped like that. But damn, could your man yell.

[fabricatedsoldier]

@krvla​ says: [ direct ]  Rufus taking Cloud by the chin and telling him to look him in the eyes. From Rufus.

( acts of dominance. )

☆ ━━━ Cloud keeps trying to retrace his steps to how the hell he wound up here. 

Hands chained together not with handcuffs--the Mako in his veins could easily tear through that--but his wrists wound with chain links, heavy enough that he feels the weight knotting in his sagging shoulders.  

Strapped to a chair set before a mammoth desk made of dark marble, shined so meticulously Cloud can see his reflection down to the bags under his eyes.

How did the famed ex-SOLDIER become a rat trapped in a cage?

Cloud tries again to push against the clinking restraints, so sure he can break them if he has enough rage to fuel him--

Rufus Shinra, set upon his chair/throne behind the desk, chuckles at his blatant helplessness.

And Cloud slumps back against the chair, huffing in defeat.

Cloud hates feeling this useless, having to resort to the wishful thought that maybe someone saves him from this deadly trap--

But he doesn’t reserve enough hope even for that--rather, he knows he’s doomed if he doesn’t claw his way out of here somehow. Yet his fate begins to seem to bleak when Cloud can’t break the chains--he struggles against them a moment more, his wrists cutting into the metal, biting until he bleeds, and still they don’t slack at all. 

Every second more he spends inside this hell draws him closer to outright panic.

Cloud has fixed his expression into impassive rage and he holds onto the anger inside him tight--because once that hatred slips away he’ll only be left with cold FEAR. Something about being here under Shinra’s thumb leaves him with the feeling of terrifying familiarity. As if this isn’t the first time he’s stared at the devil, as if maybe he’s been a rat circling its maze far longer than he thought. 

Cloud starts looking around the room quickly, assessing his options--if he jumps to his feet, somehow balances the chair on his back and hurls himself into Rufus, what are his chances of survival? None, there’s three Shinra grunts with guns strapped to their sides dotted around the room. This time Rufus won’t take any chances. And quite likely, he will indulge in Cloud’s punishment in more inventive ways than merely shooting him. Cloud glances to the pens in their little cup on the desk--could he somehow get to those, gouge out Rufus’s eyes before he’s shot down? There’s not a chance with the chains--

Cloud dully hears shoes clapping against the marble floor, but he’s too seized in sudden horror at his depleting options that he doesn’t notice, starting to sink into his broken mind as he looks around and sees no one is barging through those doors to save him--

His face is suddenly grasped roughly in a gloved hand, the fingers digging into his skin, wrenching his gaze from the doors to look into glinting, dark eyes instead--

“Look at me and tell me, Cloud,” Rufus Shinra is hissing, his voice oily smooth, chilling. Cloud is forced to stare into his face that is mere inches from his own--he can feel Rufus’s breath mist over his cheeks. 

Cloud can’t stop himself from trembling and he’s ashamed of it, even now when he’s staring at death in the eyes.

And Rufus asks quietly, almost a mere whisper, “What Class were you?”

There’s an edge in the way he asks this simple question: a knowing glint, like a blade finding its target in the dark, ready to cut out its heart.

Still the answer falls from Cloud’s lips so easily, like a doll churning out its one sacred line: “First,” he spits it out with such venom, the last ounce of his bravado spent on that singular word.

He’d been so proud to be FIRST.                  Ex-SOLDIER, Cloud Strife, that’s him, right?

Rufus smirks at him, the edges of his smile cutting, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, “That’s what I thought you would say.”

He draws away and goes back to his desk, picking up a manila folder thick with pages stuffed inside. He slowly draws over to Cloud, taking his time, each of his footfalls spurring on Cloud’s heart faster. 

Rufus drops the file onto Cloud’s lap and the ex-SOLDIER (?) reads the print emblazoned on the front in horror:

                                  THE NIBELHEIM INCIDENT                                               YEAR 0002                                              CLASSIFIED

Cloud knows what’s in those pages beneath, doesn’t he? He remembers the flames crackling, his home soaked in the fire, the Reactor, Tifa covered in blood, her broken body--

            He remembers, doesn’t he?

But after, after he stabs Sephiroth--what happens after?

Cloud finds, with a lurch, he doesn’t know the ending.

Rufus smiles down as Cloud stares up at him, wide-eyed, shaking his head numbly--

( STOP! )

“Do you want to know the truth, Cloud? Who you really are?” Rufus asks in that same cold, heartless whisper. “I have all the answers for you right here.”

Cloud is still shaking his head, pleading for this to end, shattering into pieces in front of his enemy... he stares at the file on his lap, reading the word CLASSIFIED over and over again--

          HE REMEMBERS, doesn’t he?

[bloxdstained]

&.  jenny boyd : female : she/her : you should see me in a crown by billie ellish  —  It seems calista has been lured to Volterra. the twenty five / +-980 in # -year-old vampire has been in the city for two days. Whispers in volterra says they’re nomadic.  doesn’t sharp red painted fingernails dripping with blood, a sassy attitude and leather clad restraints remind you of them?   ⸢  penned by :  sirius age : 29 tz : gmt+1 pronouns: she/her. ⸥

caelia’s life started out as peaceful as most newborn babies would. swept in a blanket in her mothers arms, with her fathers adoring gaze upon her. 

unfortunately, caelia doesn’t remember any of it. all she does know of her childhood, is growing up with her aunt in a small indian village, constantly chastised for not behaving properly. 

from the moment she could walk, caelia was a curious and most would say unruly and wild child. she didn’t like to be inside, hated that her aunt was so strict and protective. not to mention that she seemed awfully taken with being so kind and caring towards others. 

while caelia understood that you had to show a certain degree of kindness to be liked, she early learned that she could pretend just as easily. why she should give of herself to others, when everyone frequently seemed to care the most about themselves was a mystery to her. one she never quite solved. 

so she grew up, loved and protected, but never feeling quite accepted or understood by her aunt. in truth she thought the woman was her mother, until a warm summer day when a blonde woman with striking beautiful features showed up at the door, introducing herself as her mother. 

at first caelia was confused, then she grew a little excited, listening in on her aunt and unknown mother speaking in the kitchen while she was told to stay in her room. 

but as quickly as she had appeared, her mother disappeared, leaving the girl heartbroken but also angry. her aunt claimed she had left so that caelia could continue to live a safe and normal life with her. but the whole story came off as fishy to the young girl. 

not entirely letting the matter rest, but finding herself captivated by one of the new arrivals to the village; a young handsome man with no wife or family, calista set her focus on making him fall for her. 

she snuck out to see him, spent nights out with him when her aunt thought she was in her bed. though the more time they spent together, the more she realized there was something odd about him. something not quite human. 

caelia had just turned twenty five when her boyfriend decided to turn her. he did so while she was sleeping in his bed, and when she awoke, he was out hunting to calm his hunger, wanting to be as put together as he could be when she awoke. 

in the meantime, caelia woke feeling disoriented and off putting. like she had done lots of times before she went home to her aunt, not surprised at the chastisement that met her at home. 

her aunt forbade her to leave the house and went out. whilst alone at home, bored and pretending to clean, caelia came over a small wooden box hidden among her aunts things. the name ‘Sita’ was carved into the wood, and inside she found stacks of beautifully written letters. 

once her aunt came back home, caelia confronted her about what she’d found, and to her shock and fury, her aunt admitted that the names she had discovered where the names of her birth parents, claiming neither had been fit to be parents to her at all. 

in a fit of rage, caelia murdered her aunt, making the woman her first kill and feed in one. truth be told, once the bloodlust and anger subsided, the girl didn’t feel even remotely sorry. 

since she has scoured the earth for her parents, leaving India behind and exploring all other continents and settlements. 

uncertain what she could trust, she has since then hired several PI’s, hoping to find her mother first and learn the truth from her.

she came to Volterra not long ago as her PI Jessica Stanley informed her that she had a lead on her mother being there. Caelia, now going under the name Calista, is hopeful but also apprehensive, not sure what she will find. 

personality ; 

calista has a rather confrontational, sassy and confident personality that for most aren’t too easy to be around. she is very direct, says exactly what she is thinking, can be quite charming if she wants something, but also have a venomous tongue if you get on her nerves. 

she’s very short tempered in the way that she usually gives people just one chance, and if you do something to land on her bad side thats where you’ll be. she judges and holds grudges. get used to it. 

while calista isn’t spoiled, she is quite bratty and entitled, but also proud. everything she has she’s worked her ass off for, though ofc being a vampire has very much helped her get ahead. her underground brothel and dominatrix business is her baby and she is a fierce business woman. 

the only person calista cares about, is calista. there’s those who has something she wants, or can be of interest to serve her needs, and then there are those who can do either.. who she couldn’t give less of a damn about. she’s self centered and selfish, believing its the only way to go trough life not only to survive, but to thrive. 

stubborn as hell she can be a real bitch to argue with and very hard to convince otherwise once she’s set her mind on something. 

she can be quite manipulative if she wants to, usually always having an angle and having no reservations about using what she can to get to her end goal. some might say she’s without a conscience. 

calista is ruthless and easy to anger. over the centuries she has been responsible for thousands of deaths, simply because she felt like someone wronged her or displeased her. an example is the salem witch trials, which she encouraged and compelled the priests to carry out because one witch had slighted her in a deal. in other words, if you cross her, you pay dearly, and your death is inevitable unless you can get back on her good graces. 

wanted connections ; 

friends 

friends with benefits 

her sire 

minions and informants 

exes 

hook ups

frenemy

enemy she hasn’t been able to kill

[secret-engima]

Can we get Nyx’s POV of the Axis’ meeting? Someone outside the immediate emotional clash, anyway.

Hmmmm I’ll try?

Nyx is just as shocked as everyone else when a younger, Hunter-garbed Axis appears in a flash of light after their Axis cut himself on an old ruin, because seriously, that’s the kind of thing that happens in the Old Stories, not modern times.

He’s not the only one paranoid that the younger Axis might be some kind of shapeshifter, a creature of the Old Days hoping to steal their souls, but a few cautious questions puts that fear to rest. The kid (because this Axis IS a kid compared to them and Astrals were they really that small after the Burning, that skinny and wary? It looks way worse from the outside than it did back then) immediately starts looking around in agitation, no doubt looking for his Tredd and Luche since the three area almost always glued to the hip, and the glaives help look. No one appears, probably because only C!Axis got cut up on that stone, and after some grumbling from the younger Axis, the kid comes with them to the glaive outpost. They’ll sort out what to do with him in the morning.

Nyx doesn’t notice at first the way N!Axis looks at his counterparts, the worry and tight line in his shoulders, the kid is jus nervous and yea it’s weird seeing yourself and your friends older and decked out in military gear. N!Axis also gives Nyx a long, baffled stare that he refuses to explain, but Nyx doesn’t mind. Maybe the other Nyx has long hair or something and it’s weird seeing it short.

Things don’t start going wrong until they’re at the glaive outpost, passing out the (illegal) drinks Captain pretended not to notice them smuggling (the man might be hard and rigid on all the other regulations, but at least he let them have their small vices so long as they didn’t let it impede their work). Tredd drinks more than he should have, and sure enough, he starts badmouthing. It’s his venting mechanic, and at first they all ignore him as he complains about the outpost, about the Nifs (which they can all agree on at least). Then ... then he starts tearing up the nobles and they get uncomfortable. Tredd doesn’t mean anything by it, Nyx knows that, but Tredd is edging dangerously close to badmouthing the royal family and that could get him in serious trouble. Not to mention the king, for all his faults, HAD taken them in, had given them magic and always made sure that at least their families had enough to live on.

Crowe, who has little patience for Tredd’s mouthing off on a good day, tells him to knock it off but he doesn’t, because Tredd. and Nyx is just thinking of baiting Luche into reining in his Furia (Nyx is a little surprised Luche hasn’t done it already, but Luche’s in a bad mood too) when someone shoves him roughly aside and strides right into their group.

By the time Nyx identifies the newcomer as the young N!Axis, who had been brooding in a corner rather than drink with them, Tredd is already on the floor with a broken, bleeding nose. N!Axis’s fist is cocked back, dripping Tredd’s blood and already prepped to strike again and Nyx feels himself take an inner step back when the boy growls, low and dangerous, “You take that back.” The glaives freeze, because the Arra temper is legendary and Axis is scary when he loses his last restraint sure, but they have never, EVER seen him lash out at Tredd like this. Couldn’t conceive any Axis breaking Tredd’s nose like this. Nyx can see N!Axis’s face as he breathes in and sees the teenager struggling to rein himself in.

“You. Take. That. Back.” He repeats and Nyx’s skin prickles at the feral snarl coating the words, the bared teeth that flash as he speaks. N!Axis is furious, for reasons frankly lost on Nyx, and one wrong move will result in them having to try to pin down an Arra set on a bloodbath and that will not be a good time. The kid takes another deep breath and growls “How dare you. How dare you pretend to know what it’s like. How dare you wish our fate on anyone, let alone the Chief who took you in. Maybe our conditions could be better, and maybe he doesn’t do enough but at least he tries. You hold his magic in your skin and you think that gives you the right to curse his entire Clan and say none of them ever suffered?”

Tredd bristles on the floor but doesn’t move, and Nyx is grateful when C!Axis steps up and rests a hand on his younger self’s shoulder, “All he means is-”

N!Axis swats aside the hand and shifts to stare at his older self. Nyx sees his expression flicker, something like grief and anger in his eyes, some kind of ... realization that seems to break a tiny piece of the younger Arra before he bares his teeth again in renewed anger, “I know what he means,” snarls N!Axis, “and I know he’s full of pyre-ash. If you had any idea what it’s like to have been born with their full weight of magic, the full touch of the Draconian’s Blessing rather than the pittance you think makes you impressive-.”

Tredd opens his big mouth again, “What, and you do?” and the growl N!Axis gives hits a pitch that makes all of Nyx’s hair stand on end and he steps in with Lib at his side to try and keep a genuine fight from breaking out.

Nyx is mildly surprised when N!Axis grudgingly allows him to nudge the young Arra back, Nyx talking soothingly the entire time about how Tredd is just drunk and they all need to cool their heads.

It might, MIGHT have worked if Tredd hadn’t opened his big, dumb mouth again. Taunted N!Axis and told him that he might think the king is kind now, but that was naive, give it a few years and he’d think just like Tredd, and now the Furia is DEFINITELY in court martial territory. Several glaives hiss at him because too far is too far even for Tredd.

Nyx feels the vibrating tension of N!Axis against his arm suddenly relax and something in his head, the little primal instincts that have kept him alive for years, starts screaming.

N!Axis gently nudges Nyx’s arm down (he lets him only because he’s genuinely starting to fear if he doesn’t his arm will get broken), looks his counterpart and the counterpart of his two friends dead in the eyes with an eerie calm that belies the burning HATE in his eyes-.

Spits on the ground at their feet, “Storm-Father as my witness,” he intones in a too-calm, utterly serious voice, “I’ll gut myself with my mother’s blades and feed my entrails to the Voretooths before I become a filthy little Pink-Tongue like you.”

Nyx can no more stop the fight that breaks out than he could stop the tides. He’s too stunned, frozen in place in HORROR at hearing Axis (any Axis, any version of him) call Tredd a slur like that. It isn’t until Tredd has gotten his head pounded against the floor several times and Tredd has kicked N!Axis away from him and sent him crashing through a table that Nyx and the others snap out of their horror and lunge to break it up. N!Axis has gone feral, he bucks in Nyx’s arms, fighting to get free despite his bloody cheek and split lip and probably bruised ribs, screaming more and more slurs and hate at his counterpart and the counterparts of what should be his two best friends and Nyx’s mind almost blanks from the horror of it (this younger Axis is declaring a blood feud in all but name, he’s using all the words that NO Galahdian is supposed to use at another unless they mean to spill entrails onto the sand and he doesn’t UNDERSTAND why N!Axis is doing this, saying this. Tredd shouldn’t have said that stuff about the king but this is too far-)

They drag him to the far side of the Outpost and Nyx and Lib keep guard on the kid all night, both to ensure he doesn’t pick anymore fights and also to ensure no one tries to slit his throat in the night.

The moment Tredd, Axis, and Luche are out of sight, N!Axis stops fighting their grip, just goes limp and then curls in the corner and broods with fury-darkened eyes. He refuses the potion Libertus offers past his own righteous indignation (because a war declared on one glaive is war declared on all the glaive, surely, but this is a hurting teenager from another world and Lib won’t raise a hand against him) and the night is long and cold and uneasy.

The next morning, a shout goes up, a stranger approaching the base. Nyx leaves Lib in charge of guarding their guest while he goes to see.

Astrals above it’s a kid. He can’t be older than fourteen, thin and scraggly and unmistakably a refugee, with black hair in a ponytail and blue-blue eyes that watch them calmly as he explains he’s here to find a friend. They were exploring the nearby Solheim ruins together when they got separated and he followed the trail to the outpost.

No way. No WAY.

Except when they let the kid in, he makes a beeline right for N!Axis, like he has a beacon leading him right to the young adult despite N!Axis being on the other side of the outpost.“Hey, Axis,” the kid says easily, as if he’s out for a walk and not apparently FROM ANOTHER WORLD.

Nyx watches N!Axis stare, then sigh, and wonders at the way all the tension bleeds out of the Arra’s frame at the sight of the younger boy, “What are you doing here, idiot,” he asks, but there is no bite or venom to the words, only relief.

The kid has gone stiff at the sight of N!Axis’s injuries and pushes a potion on his friend as he says something about calling in a favor and how they need to get going.

Something about the way the kid watches N!Axis niggles at Nyx. Something about the way the kid moves, the way he looks in the light of rising sun as they begin marching out of the outpost, glaives whispering on their heels. Something … something Nyx can’t … can’t place.

Until Tredd comes out of the barracks, Luche and Axis on his heels and yells out a vile curse, fist already cocked back to punch N!Axis one more time, and Nyx starts to step forward to try to keep the bloodshed at bay-.

Freezes with all the others when the scrawny teen is suddenly there, between N!Axis and Tredd, a lethal, furious pressure rippling through the air as a host of ghostly weapons point right at Tredd’s heart, “Are we going to have a problem?” The teen asks and there is something eerie underlying his voice, some kind of echo of voices, old and cold and cruel that makes him seem suddenly not a teen at all but something entirely ancient and inhuman.

Lucis Caelum, wheezes something in Nyx’s mind as he struggles to breathe, angry, ANGRY Lucis Caelum.

N!Axis calls him off, which surprises Nyx until he sees the look in the younger Arra’s eyes. Loyalty. Fervent, utter loyalty. A devotion given only to the best of Chief’s and closest of family.

And oh. OH. That … that explains the rage, the fury, the slurs and the screaming. N!Axis wasn’t defending a foreign king who distantly aided refugee’s.

He’d been defending the father of his Chief. The father of family, for all the boy doesn’t wear an Arra braid (yet. If N!Axis doesn’t put a braid in that boy’s hair by the end of the month Nyx will eat his shoes).

No one moves to stop them as they leave, hands linked together, straight backed and thin, worn down but proud.

Nyx eyes the expressions on he faces of Tredd, Luche, and Axis and feels uneasy for reasons he can’t name.

[lia-jones]

Growing Stronger - Chapter Thirty-Seven - Brandy and Wedding Rings

A note to my dear readers: It is with great pride that I announce Growing Stronger is complete. It has been a rollercoaster ride, and I'm so grateful to have you by my side. Huge thanks to you all, especially to the ones that took some time to write a bit back. I have to admit there are times I think of quitting, and I don't, because of you. Thank you to @attackonmyself​ for being an awesome beta and a friend, and for spending so many hours with me editing and refining the story. Thanks to Mu for making beautiful art for my story (including in this chapter! check it out!), and for being such a good friend and supporting me so much. Thanks to Roxie for her support and friendship. Thanks to you guys, for making my words matter. I can't possibly thank you enough. I’ll have news pretty soon, including a Halloween story! Very, very, incredibly soon! (SO EXCITED!) Lots of love, see you soon!

“I don’t think I will ever get married.” A five-year-old Victor announced proudly to his mother, while she served him some warm milk before bed.

“That’s quite a decision to make.” She smiled, amused, her dark curls shining under the kitchen light. “And how have you reached that conclusion?”

“Because girls are boring.” He shrugged. “They never want to play things boys like. The girls in my school only want to play with dolls and comb their hair. So childish.” He made an annoyed face at the thought. “How many times does one need to comb a doll’s hair? They don’t like soccer, or running, or playing sports. It’s boring.”

“Well, your father is married to me. Do you think I’m boring?” His mother played along.

“No, you are the exception.” Victor looked at her with big innocent eyes. “You are smart, and sweet, you do things I like with me and you love me. But I can’t marry you, because you are my mother. And I will never find anyone like you, because father says you are one of a kind. So I won’t marry. I’ll stay singled.” He took the glass of milk in one go, licking his lips afterward.

“You mean you’ll stay single.” Her mother brushed his bangs lovingly. “But, you know, I don’t think you will. I think when you grow up, you’ll find someone that is so special to you, you will find her one of a kind too. She will be smart, and sweet, she’ll do the things you like with you and she will love you. And yes, sweetheart, you will get married. And be very happy.”

“And you won’t mind that I go live with her instead of you? Won’t you miss me?” Victor’s heart broke with the thought of leaving his mother. In his infant mind, such a thing could never be.

“I will miss you immensely, my little hummingbird.” She kissed his forehead, and he smiled widely at her gesture. “But when you grow up, you will have a family of your own, because that’s how things work. Little birds fly off their nest to make nests of their own, and have other little birds, and so on.” She tickled his belly, making him giggle. “But right now you don’t need to worry your pretty little head with that. What you need is sleep.” She picked him up in her arms. “To grow and become a good man to your wife, and make your old mother proud.”

Victor chuckled by himself, as he watched all the commotion outside through his window. His aunt's garden was filled with photographers and reporters, trying to get something before the ceremony. He could hear Bernard yell at them, in his lousy English. He hoped Bernard was asked about the flowers.

After a while, Joshua and Goldman arrived, and shortly after, a busboy with his breakfast. Although this was Victor’s wedding and not a regular day in LFG, Goldman quickly assumed his assistant duties. And without even realizing, Victor stepped right into his place as CEO.

“Did you give your wife the list?” He asked Goldman as he was sitting at the table.

“Yes, Diane has the list, your suit is ready in the dressing room, the rings are already with Josh, and Mia is taking care of the media coverage. All set, Sir.” Goldman promptly answered.

“Why is he calling you Sir?” Joshua frowned. “And what list is he talking about? And why is he so… uptight?” He asked Victor, but Goldman stepped in first, as a good assistant would do.

“Question number one, force of habit. Question number two, It’s a list with all the things Diane should do to keep your sister comfortable, like give her some candy if she gets grumpy, rub her back if she rubs her forehead, keep her fresh because she hates perspiring…” Goldman trailed off as he saw Victor’s eyes bore into his skull.

“Wow.” Joshua laughed. “The only thing I cared about on my wedding day was to cure my hangover and make sure Cristina would show up. You really need to lighten up, man, this is your wedding day. Won’t get another.”

That was precisely why Victor needed to make sure everything was perfect, but he could respond, the door was opened. In came his father, without any ceremony or basic politeness.

“Make yourselves scarce.” He spat to the assistant and best man.

Joshua was ready to spit some venom back, only to be taken away by Goldman, who held him by his arm.

“Do you need to be so rude to people? They did nothing to you.” Victor frowned at his father, already losing his patience.

“I came to tell you I won’t be attending your wedding.” His father announced. Victor sighed, frustrated. It was only nine am, and he was already causing trouble?

“You’re leaving.” Victor wasn’t asking. He wasn’t even surprised.

His father had basically invited himself, made demands about the wedding, and who would attend it, and Andrea and him had complied to it all, trying to build a bridge of understanding between them. And now, because he felt crossed, he was leaving. Once again, only thinking about himself. Yes, Victor was livid, but not surprised.

“Don’t worry about the media, I’ll excuse myself with some health issue.” Gregory straightened his tie in front of the mirror as he spoke.

“I’m not.” Victor took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. “In all honesty, neither should that be your primary concern. Your only son’s wedding should matter more. Although I guess it may be too ambitious of me to expect Gregory Lee to be concerned about someone else other than himself.”

Victor hit a breaking point. He could never please him or make him act like a father, he knew that now. Years of his childhood were spent trying to fall on his father’s good side, to feel the tiniest shred of approval, of love. But his father only loved himself. And it turned out, he had no good side to fall on.

“My only son, you say?” Gregory sneered. “My only son should be my concern? My son that embarrassed our family by displaying proudly that sinful affair between his mindless aunt and her lady lover? The only son that constantly disrespected his father’s wishes tearing to the ground what took so long to build, is that the son you mean? The one that dragged the Lee name through the mud by getting engaged to some scandalous woman, with no name and no worth of her own, that is probably with him just for his money?”

“You will not speak of Andrea like that!” Victor exploded, his blood piping hot in his veins.

“Down, boy. Learn your place.” His father eyed him with nothing but contempt. “You are a disgrace. Your mother would be ashamed of you.”

“Mark my words, you will regret the day you insult my wife again.” Victor looked his father in the eye. His father would be the one to learn his place. “She’s the only reason you are here in the first place. If it was only me, you wouldn’t even know about the wedding, let alone receive an invitation. But luckily for you, Andrea has a kind heart, and she wanted us to make amends, and didn’t even flinch at your veiled insults and your ridiculous demands. But enough is enough.”

Gregory tried to retort, but Victor wouldn’t let him. Not this time. Who did he think he was? This time, Victor would not relent. Gregory would have a piece of his mind.

“I’m not done yet.” Victor stood his ground, a strength he didn’t know he had supporting him. “You will listen.” He gritted through his teeth. “It isn’t me who has disgraced our family, father . It was you, with your inflated ego and your toxic, baseless attitude. Look around you. Who stands beside you, apart from your bootlicking minions? Your wife died, and instead of supporting your family, you alienated your son. Even your own sister, the one that took care of me when you clearly didn’t have the intention to do so, the one that actually gave me the love I needed, you disrespect her and treat her like one of your servants. Mother dreamed of a happy and close family, and you are tearing her dream apart. Mother would hate to see us like this, to see how you are destroying this family. And quite frankly, she would be ashamed of you. ”

Gregory watched his son, anger in his eyes. Characteristically, his expression turned stone cold and he turned to the door, opening it to leave, letting Joshua and Goldman in, who were anxiously waiting outside. It would be better this way, Victor reasoned. Without his father there, he could enjoy his day fully.

But Gregory didn’t leave right away. He turned once again, a venomous smile on his face, ready to deal the fatal blow.

“I guess we’re done here. The only reason I could see for an approach was the fact that you could still be something of worth and give me an heir. But your future wife is such a failure that she can’t even do something as simple as bearing a child.”

Victor was literally blind with rage. He jumped towards the old man, ready to make him bleed, but felt something holding him back. He pushed against his binds harder, only to feel more restraint, but he kept pushing anyway. At that moment the only thing he could see was his father, the constant satisfaction he had in hurting him, and the people he loved. In his mind, clouded with fury and anguish, Gregory had to pay for all he had done.

“Victor!” He heard Joshua scream, but he couldn’t care less what he was saying. “He’s not worth it! If you hurt him you’ll end up in jail, and Andy will have to spend her special day in a police station, in her wedding dress. Control yourself!”

Victor didn’t care about what happened to him, but the mention of Andrea’s name made him stop altogether. Joshua was right, he had to think of her too. He couldn’t do this to her. He immediately relaxed in his brother in law’s arms, watching as Goldman took his father away.

“I’m calm.” He was trying hard to catch a breath, raising his hands but lowering his eyes in embarrassment. “You can let go of me now.”

“Look, man, I would punch him myself if I could.” Joshua still kept a steady hand on Victor’s shoulder. “But like that other son of a bitch, he’s not worth it. Learn from my mistakes.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Victor mumbled, just wanting that moment to end. He was embarrassed for letting his father get to him like that. With a sigh, he slumped into the leather chair by the window, head hanging his hands, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have coffee.” Goldman walked to the door. “I will ask Mina to prepare you some tea for you to have with breakfast.”

“No need.” Victor mumbled, just wanting to be left alone. “I’m not hungry.”

“I’m sorry, Victor, I know you are probably not feeling well, but as your assistant, my job is to make you focus on the most important matters.” Goldman seemed to have grown a spine all of the sudden, Victor bitterly thought. “And right now, the most important thing is to get you married. And you need to have breakfast. Between the ceremony, and taking pictures, and Heaven knows what else, who knows when you’ll have the chance to eat.”

“Mind your own business.” Victor scoffed, annoyed. “I already said I’m not hungry.”

“With all due respect, Sir, this is not just your business anymore, it’s also Andrea’s business. Should I call her and let her know what happened?” Goldman raised his eyebrows at him.

“Fine.” Victor sighed. “I’ll eat something. Don’t call Andrea.” He suddenly noticed Joshua had left the room. “Where’s Joshua?”

“He’s taking a call from his mother, I think.” Goldman shrugged. Victor ran to the door.

“Don’t tell your mother.” He mouthed to Josh. “Please.”

Josh gave him a thumbs up, returning to the conversation. Victor went back in, sitting to try and have breakfast. There was a knot in his throat, he had serious doubts he would be able to push down any food.

Both best man and assistant did their best to lift his spirits, but Victor knew it would be to no avail. Andrea would know what to say in this situation. If only he could call it a day, and just cuddle with her, let his mind wander away from his anguish and into her warmth.

Victor hated to admit it, but he wondered if he could be the man Andrea deserved. He was unable to keep any kind of relationship, he could barely relate to his father, what did he have to offer? Maybe people kept leaving him for a reason, and Andrea just hadn’t figured out what that reason was yet. Maybe down the line, she would see he was worthless, with nothing but money to offer. And despite what his father said, money wasn’t what Andrea cared about. She cared for him. She loved him. Maybe she was a fool for loving him, but of that, he was completely certain.

She loved him and he was questioning his decision to marry her. She definitely deserved better. Victor kicked himself internally for being so confused, but his feelings were a never-ending cycle of wanting to do better and feeling unable to.

When Jeremy waltzed in, bottle of brandy in hand, he immediately knew Joshua was a big fat liar. At least, if it was Jeremy showing up, that meant Andrea was oblivious to the whole situation. If she knew, she would be by his side already, wedding dress and all.

Jeremy’s words were full of wisdom, giving Victor a new perspective on his life, and new gusto for his special day. Nothing else mattered as long as he had her by his side. Their new life was something they would make together, and, for her, he would be better. He would do better. He would be invincible. The brandy Jeremy brought also aided in clearing his mind, the heat in his throat bringing some warmth to his heart, making him relax and keep the bad thoughts at bay. Besides, it was delicious. Amazing, really.

Victor had finished his first glass and was already filling his second when Goldman entered the room.

“What are you drinking?” Goldman smelled the glass Jeremy had left behind. “Brandy? Before the wedding?!”

“Yes. Jeremy brought it.” Victor sipped his glass, feeling in a much better mood. “Have some, it’s exquisite.” He pointed to the bottle.

“I’m sorry, but have you lost your mind? You can’t show up to the wedding drunk. Andrea will have my head if she sees you drunk.”

Victor was perfectly aware that it would take a lot more than two or three glasses of brandy to get him drunk. But he had had such a terrible morning, and he was feeling so much better now, that he decided to pull his assistant’s leg a little.

“Yes, she will.” He smiled at Goldman, downing what was left in his glass, giving Goldman a satisfying exhale. “Ahhhh. Good stuff, really.” He filled his glass a third time, enjoying watching Goldman squirm.

“No more.” Goldman took the bottle from Victor’s hand, starting to panic. “Please, Victor. Just leave it at that.”

Before Victor had the chance to call Goldman an idiot, there was a knock on his door.

“Is it too late to give the groom a hug before he leaves?” Mina asked, from the door.

“Not for you.” Victor smiled at the old lady.

“Let me take a good look at you.” Mina motherly straightened his lapel. “Such a handsome young man. Your mother would be so proud of you. I know I am.”

“Thank you.” Victor felt his throat tight with emotion.

“I still remember having you on my lap, a sweet little boy that could barely reach the kitchen counters, eyes full of love and kindness. I had really high hopes for you, but you exceeded any expectations I could ever have had. You are an honorable, good man, with your heart in the right place. And I am sure you will make that remarkable woman very happy. You deserve everything that is good in this world, and I have no doubt you will find it. Life has given you so much hurt, it’s time it pays you back with joyful days.”

As he watched Mina’s eyes fill with tears, he could feel his eyes getting misty as well. Mina had been his comfort, for all these years, and it was because of her that he could still hope for love and happiness. It was Mina, not his mother, who had kept that spark alive, nurturing him, being his light in the dark night of his days. With her smile and tenderness, she showed him that there could be abandonment, and abuse, and bad people could do unspeakable things, but there were also good things, like comfort, and understanding, and warmth. In every setback in his life, he would remind himself of that, refusing to let his soul go bitter.

The hope Mina gave him also gave him Andrea. And the real possibility of a happy life. That was the greatest gift he ever got.

“Thank you.” He took the old lady in his arms for a tight embrace. Words could never convey what he really felt, but he knew she knew him well, and that simple hug would do.

“I love you too, my dear.” She held him back.

More than thirty years together allowed them to have their secret silent language. Victor wondered if the same would happen after a lifetime with Andrea. Although he suspected it wouldn’t take a lifetime.

“It’s time.” Goldman announced. Mina excused herself, smiling.

“Time to get married, man.” Joshua slapped his back. “Are you nervous?”

He wasn’t before, but suddenly a frosty feeling built up in his stomach, making him uneasy. Victor scoffed at himself, taking a deep breath. What was he nervous for? This was a good thing. He wanted this.

He eyed the glass of brandy on the coffee table, the third one he had filled but hadn't touched. Without a second thought, he drank it in on big gulp. It did help to a degree, but he still felt nervous. Maybe this was what Jeremy was talking about.

As expected, the wedding venue was splendid, and classical music filled the air, played by the string quartet they had picked. It was a beautiful morning, the sun shining bright and reflecting on the lake that ran sweetly in the background. The garden was filled with flowers and decorations, giving it a magical atmosphere, the one that preludes happily-ever-after endings. When Victor arrived, standing at the end of the aisle, the officiant was already there, waiting, as well as most of the guests and the media.

Looking at the end of that petal covered white carpet, waiting for the woman he loved, Victor found himself unable to breathe. Taking discreet deep breaths, he tried to steady his poor heart, that felt like it was about to jump out of his chest at any moment. He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It was his best man.

“We’ve all been there, brother. Deep breaths. She’ll be here soon.”

She would be there soon. Until then, Victor could only count the seconds, trying not to look as unhinged as he felt.

The sounds of horses in the distance announced her arrival. He could already see her in a distance, as the carriage approached, and his heart beat harder with anticipation, so hard that he feared for a second he would collapse.

Suddenly, the photographers blocked his view, probably taking pictures of her coming down from the carriage. Pachelbel’s Canon in D started playing. Victor unconsciously held his breath. Joshua’s hand on his shoulder tightened its grip. The guests got up from their seats and stood still, expectant. It was like he had his Evol again, and had instinctively slowed down time. Every second was a lazy one, taking a long time to pass. Swiftly, the photographers stood aside, letting the bridal procession in.

The first person Victor saw was Diane, wearing a beautiful dark red dress, a white rose bouquet in her hand, winking at him. The guests let out an endearing “aww” when next came Cristina, also in red, holding the hand of the young Ana, dressed in white tulle, who held the wedding ring pillow. The little girl, who was so well behaved walking down the aisle, suddenly decided to let go of her mother’s hand and ran to Victor, pulling at his pants to be held. Joshua came to the rescue, picking his daughter up.

That’s when he saw her, and the lazy seconds came to a halt, and time stood still. Even Victor felt paused in time, his eyes falling on the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

The guests let out a gasp of admiration as Andrea walked in, adorned with her beautiful white dress, her hair pulled up in an updo, a red rose bouquet in her hands. She smiled at him, eyes shiny with emotion.

The world seemed to shrink around them as she slowly walked in his direction, and Victor’s heart filled with love as his dream was steps away from coming true. Her father gave her away, shaking his hand, but he could barely take his eyes away from her. She was astonishing.

“Hello, handsome.” She jested, wanting to hide the emotions she was certainly feeling herself.

Victor wanted to say something, tell her she was beautiful, that she was his whole world, that he was so proud of making her his wife, but no sound would come out. There were no words to express what he was feeling at that moment. It was more than joy, more than elation. So he simply took her hand, their fingers interlocking.

The officiant signaled the guests to sit down. Victor and Andrea stood before each other, looking in each other's eyes, overwhelmed with emotion.

“Dearly beloved and honored guests, we are gathered together here to join Victor and Andrea in the union of marriage.” The officiant declared. “This contract is not to be entered into lightly, but thoughtfully and seriously, and with a deep realization of its obligations and responsibilities.” He paused, looking at the young couple. “Andrea and Victor share a deep love, but also deep admiration and care for each other. Andrea told me all about her coming to Loveland, to overcome trauma and heartbreak, and how Victor gently and steadily took her in his arms, comforting and healing her, taking her to new heights. She recognizes Victor was a fundamental pillar of strength in every step she took towards what she has achieved, and is deeply grateful for his presence in her life.”

Victor smiled at his future wife, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. The truth was, he would do anything for her. However, he knew that all that she accomplished was hers because she was brilliant, although she was too humble to admit it.

“Victor, on the other hand, when speaking of his loved one, does it with a twinkle in his eye.” The officiant continued. “We all can see he is quiet and reserved, but when the subject is Andrea, or whenever she is near, you can see a light in him shine. And indeed, he told me of how Andrea makes his life brighter and warmer, how he learned very important lessons of friendship and love with her, how she showed him there can be strength in tenderness.”

Andrea looked at Victor with misty eyes, and her grip on his hand tightened.

“Although the two of them seem very different, they share many interests: they enjoy cooking together, they both work in finance and excel at their jobs, and they share a passion for music. And what differentiates them in essence is actually complementary in practice. Victor is the pillar of strength, the voice of reason, the steady ground, the supporter, while Andrea is the cooling wind, the ray of sunshine, and from what we could see last night, Andrea has the most contagious laughter I have ever seen. They support each other in different ways, and that’s what makes them a great team. I can honestly say that, in 20 years as an officiant, it is rare to witness such a united couple.”

“So today, before guests, friends and family, Victor and Andrea commit to a lifetime together. And for such purpose I ask: Victor, do you take Andrea to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?”

Victor looked at the beautiful woman in front of him and answered with all the conviction in his heart.

“I do.”

“ And Andrea, do you take Victor to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him, forsaking all others, and holding only unto him forevermore?”

“I do.” Andrea answered with a strained voice.

“May I have the rings, please?” Upon the officiant’s request, Cristina helped Ana take the pillow to Victor, so he could take Andrea’s ring. Removing her engagement ring, he fit it into the wedding ring, and placed it onto her finger.

“Andrea, with this ring I give you my all, promising to love you and cherish you, in the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health, now and forever.”

“Victor, with this ring I give you my all, promising to love you and cherish you, in the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health, now and forever.” She smiled at him, as she slid the wedding band onto his finger.

“Victor and Andrea, we have heard your promise to share your lives in marriage.  In the honesty and sincerity of what you have said and done here today, and in accordance with the laws of Loveland, it is my honor and delight to declare you henceforth to be husband and wife.” The officiant finally declared. “You may seal your vows with a kiss.”

Family and guests applauded as Victor took Andrea, now his wife, and kissed her gently on the lips. As he gazed at her, now completely and officially his, smiling and happy in his arms, he could feel his eyes filling with tears. He buried his nose in the nape of her neck, hugging her tight, so his face could be hidden from the crowd.

“Aww, you’re crying?” She asked quietly.

“I’m so happy.” He croaked. “Thank you.”

As the guests moved to the reception tent, Victor and Andrea stayed behind to sign the documents that would make the wedding official.

This was nothing new to Victor, as a businessman, signing documents was pretty much his daily life. But that day, it was special. As he signed his name on that piece of paper, it was more than a contract for the exchange of goods. It was more than a mutual benefit arrangement, where both parties can gain something from the other. This was a promise.

They were creating an unbreakable bond, and Victor was certain neither time or space could break it. They were officially on the same team, facing the world together, making each other grow, loving each other. She was his everything, and he would be all she ever dreamed of.

He signed the document, his heart joyful with the honor of sharing a life with such a woman.

And it was with an enormous pride that he watched her sign Andrea Lee .

[imagine-myhero]

Wicked

This is a request I got on my AO3 page: 

“hi can I request Vampire!Todoroki x Reader? where Todoroki saves reader from being burn alive at her village because she is accused of being a witch. thanks” from shinichishi.

Pairing: Vampire!Shouto x F!Reader

“Please, don’t do this!” You beg through hysterical tears as the people who once looked at you with kind smiles and warm eyes now forcefully drag you across the autumn dirt to the town center with frenzied, hateful expressions. You resist and struggle as much as you can, but you’re not nearly strong enough to break free. “I’m not a witch, I swear!” You insist, but all your pleading and screams fall on deaf ears.

“Don’t gaze upon her! You will fall under her wicked spell! Avert your eyes and ears, all of you!” A man cries out to the crowd who roars in agreement and anger. It’s the man who brought this terrible fate upon you, staring down at you with cold and cruel eyes. You fall limp in despair, tears running down your face without abandon.

How could this happen?

What have you done to deserve such a fate?

Soon, you see the mounds of dry straw and kindling surrounding a scorched wooden stake in front of the courthouse. Your blood chills and your heart sinks to your stomach. Fear, pure unadulterated fear courses through you and you dig your heels in the ground, crying out in desperation as you begin to struggle again.

“I beg of you, please! This is a mistake! Have mercy, God please have mercy…” Your screams break into whimpers as you struggle to catch your breath through your hysterical sobbing. A hand comes down to strike your cheek sharply. You yelp at the burning sting spreading across your face.

“Silence! Do not dare utter the Lord’s name you witch !” A minister of the church hisses venomously at you. They drag you to the stake and bind your hands around it with thick rope that digs into your skin while you try to free yourself. You stare in horror at the townspeople that are gathering around you, torches in hand and evil sneers on their faces.

You can’t believe this. They were so kind to you once; the baker gave you extra pastries he made in the mornings, the minister spoke comforting blessings when you crossed paths, and the wives taught you how to cook and knit in their free time. The looks of disgust and hate on their faces make them look like strangers to you. Strangers who are going to burn you alive for “practicing witchcraft”.

It isn’t your fault.

It isn’t fair.

Unable to bear the weight of their disdainful glares, you tilt your head to the starry sky. Tears trickle down your face steadily and drip down your chin onto the logs of wood beneath your feet.

You don’t want to die, and certainly not like this.

A torch lowers to ignite the kindling. You flinch and let out a wretched sob when the fire catches. The crowd cheers. You don’t want to scream, to satisfy their sick hunger to see you suffer, but you’re so terrified. You’re about to be burned alive.  The smell of smoke wafts toward you and the fire slowly grows, consuming the path of kindling and advancing steadily toward you. You push on your tiptoes and press as hard against the stake as you can to get even just an inch more distance between you and a slow, blistering death.

Another hideous cry erupts from the crowd, but this time it’s followed by a flurry of movement. Some of the glowing lights of their torches drop strangely and you hear people running and panicking. You can’t see very well past your tears and the thickening smoke, but you can tell the villagers are scrambling and shouting about something. You barely make out the town sheriff wobbling on his feet and clutching at his neck, where fresh blood flows over his fingers to smear across his skin and stain his clothes. He chokes out some words, but they’re lost in a gurgle. A large billow of smoke blocks your view and you cough violently when it invades your lungs.

When you open your eyes, they sting from the remains of the smoke, but you’re shocked to see that the sheriff had fallen face down onto the ignited kindling. You realize his collapse had caused the wave of smoke as his body smothered a portion of the flames, but the surviving flames are quick to take revenge on his flesh.

Your attention is torn from the dead man in front of you when you feel the restraints on your wrists disappear and your hands fall to your sides. You try to look back at what’s happened, but you’re suddenly lifted off the wood beneath your feet and into someone’s arms.

You stare up at the man holding you. His hair and eyes are both two different colors, giving him a striking appearance. A large scar covers an upper quadrant of his gentle face, drawing out the bright crystalline blue of the iris it surrounds. There is something so entrancing about him and the way he looks at you with such softness.

“Are you alright?” He asks you in a soothing velvety voice, and you see pointed fangs in his mouth as he speaks. Your heart skips a beat. Have you just escaped death only for it to greet you with different arms? “You took in a lot of smoke. I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you sooner.”

You realize only then that the world around you is silent. You look to see you’re no longer in the town center with a crackling fire burning in the square or townspeople yelling in terror. You’re in a wooded clearing, in the arms of this man who has saved your life.

You stumble to find  your words as the man gently places you down on the cool dirt. How did you get here? How didn’t you notice? The man watches you stammer with a caring and patient expression. You feel your cheeks heat up at his demeanor that would almost come off as adoring if you didn’t know any better.

“I-I’m okay.” You squeak out, staring down at your soot covered dress. “Y-your—fangs…you um… you’re…” You trail. Surely you’re wrong, but the neck wound that killed the sheriff suddenly makes a little too much sense.

“A vampire.” He confirms quietly, as if he were trying not to frighten a mouse back into its hole.

You take in a shaky breath, and try your best to process this.

Your village was very superstitious, obviously, so you’ve been warned about the existence of creatures such as vampires, werewolves, and witches , but you always had your doubts. You certainly never expected to meet one in your lifetime, much less have one save your life.

Goodness. A vampire saving you from being burned alive for witchcraft.

Maybe you really are a witch.

“Do they frighten you?” He asks, showing off his  pair of pointed teeth again. He tilts his head slightly and a small frown mars his features, “Do I frighten you?”

“No.” Your mouth replies  before you can really think about your answer. Granted, the idea of vampires does frighten you as much as the next person, but this particular one... You feel foolish for saying so to such a dangerous being, but the truth is you aren’t scared for some reason. Foolish or not. You should be, you recognize that, but you just… aren’t. Not of him.

He appears pleased by your denial, and smiles in a way that has you blushing and smiling shyly yourself.

“Good.” He says warmly, reaching up to wipe away the ashes on your cheek. His hand is cool and it makes you feel better after being so close to blistering heat. “Now tell me. Why did they think you were a witch?”

At the memory, tears spring to your eyes and you bite your lip to hold them in. You’re safe now, you remind yourself. It’s okay. The man brushes an escaped tear from your face and caresses your cheek softly. “You don’t have to say if it hurts. It doesn’t matter now. You’re safe.” He seems to be reproachful of himself for asking. You don’t want him to feel bad, so you cover his hand with your own and lean into it reassuringly. You’re not sure why you feel so comfortable with him.

“A man asked me to… bed with him,” You tell him, averting your eyes in humiliation, “and I declined.”

He waits for you to continue. When you don’t, he gently pushes your face to look at him. “That’s all?” He asks. You nod, another tear falling as you give a small mirthless laugh.

“That’s all. He went straight to the courthouse and accused me of trying to seduce him into sin with witchcraft.”

The man’s face is solemn and his mouth is set in a disapproving thin line. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry, my dear. I should have been quicker to find you. I was almost too late.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, and the self-resentment in his eyes confuses you even more. You were lucky to have been saved at all. He acts as if he had personal stakes in the matter, but you two have only just met.

“I didn’t thank you for saving me. I owe you my life.” You say quietly, watching him carefully. His gray and blue eyes shine humorously at your gratitude and he smiles affectionately at you.

“Oh darling, it is my life that is forever yours.” He answers. Your eyes go wide and you can only stare at him in total shock, mouth falling open in disbelief.  

“W-wha…?!” Your voice has left you. The man chuckles  and rests his hands comfortingly on your shoulders.

“My name is Shouto Todoroki.” He begins, and a strange feeling washes over you when you hear his name. It feels like deja vu. “That name probably doesn’t mean much to you now, but…” He pauses to choose his words, “We knew each other once in a past life. Quite well. I’ve been looking for you, princess.”

When he speaks the last word, you feel a strange sense of enlightenment. Fragments of memories come to your mind, none making very much sense, but all so familiar. You do recognize this man in front you. You don’t see, but you feel (or rather re-feel) the warm fireplace in a grand bedroom, sparkling palace ballrooms, a charming white horse and his handsome rider, the lonely prince…

It’s not your life. But… it was...once upon a time.

“Shouto…” You whisper, the name feeling not at all foreign on your tongue. Your eyes flutter open (you hadn’t realized you closed them) and it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time. You notice even the shades of blue in his tunic give you an echoing sense of sentimentality. He is a stranger, but you know him deep within your heart.

Shouto has a look of pure elation at the sound of his name leaving your lips with such familiarity. “Considering your… sudden homelessness, why don’t you come with me? We can leave all of this behind us.” He urges, dipping his head down to brush your nose with his. You hope he’s too close to see the spreading blush on your cheeks.

You can’t help but chuckle a little at his wording and pretend it mull it over. Of course, you don’t really have much to think about— you have just been effectively removed from your home rather permanently and you do have this unnatural yet completely comfortable longing to stay with this man who you know so intimately and yet don’t know at all.

“Yes… I’d like that.” You hum absently, focused on Shouto’s beautifully delicate features and fresh wintry scent. His hands lift to cup either side of your face.

“May I?” He asks sweetly. You sound your approval and soon feel his soft lips press fervently into yours. A burst of emotions overwhelm you and you press yourself to Shouto’s firm body like he was the only thing grounding you to this world. The strange sense of long-awaited reunion fills your heart and for the first time, you feel like you’re home.

Shouto parts from you, gazing at you tenderly, and you simply bask in his surreal embrace. A moment later, you feel his lips softly brushing against the junction of your neck. You shudder slightly at the feather-light sensation of his loving kiss placed there.

“May I?” He asks again. You know what he means and you feel a little scared, but you trust Shouto so you nod, taking a deep breath to prepare yourself. Shouto’s hand presses into your lower back and pushes you flush against him. He kisses your neck again and you tilt your head for him.

His fangs pierce your skin, and the world you once knew is gone without a single regret.

[apprentice-lex]

Thank you so much! <3 Warnings for blood and injuries. Reactions under the cut. Long post ahead. SFW.

Valerius

Lucio is trying to do what?! The delicate wineglass breaks in the Consul's hand, sharp shards mixing his blood with the dripping wine, but he doesn't notice, doesn't care. This was not part of the deal. Who does Lucio think he is? He tries and fails to control his breathing; it does nothing to dissipate the panic that curls within the Consul's ribcage, burying its claws into his heart. He needs to do something. He needs to do something right now. Even though it was the middle of the night when he got the message about Lucio's mercenaries, hired to capture you like a common criminal, the Consul doesn't waste a moment, and marches immediately to the palace, right to the door of Lucio's bedroom. Valerius is quite a sight - hair escaping his braid, face flushed with anger, his house robe trailing behind him instead of his usually tasteful garments. He bangs his fist against the door; the guards that move to stop him all wither under his venomous gaze. Finally, Lucio opens the door, disheveled and cantankerous from being woken up. Listening to about a half of the Consul's angry tirade, Lucio cuts him off with: "You woke me up for such a a paltry thing?" It takes all the self-restraint that the Consul possesses not to punch the Count in the face, right then and there. Yes, Lucio is a trained fighter and it would likely not end well for Valerius, but the Consul's rage won't listen to reason. He'd do much more, for you. Who cares for a few bruises when your freedom is at stake? However, reminding himself it would do more harm than good, the Consul manages to calm himself, and instead threatens the Count with all the possible consequences he can think of - delays of the Count's parties, confiscated supplies - whatever it takes, until Lucio agrees to call off the pursuit. Valerius returns to his estate still fuming. He got the Count to let you go, but it did nothing to quell his rage or his growing dislike for the Count. He wishes he'd taken the chance to throw that punch instead, consequences be damned.

Valdemar

They pause, close their eyes, take a deep breath, and remind themself that the assistants around them do not deserve their ire. But Lucio... Oh, Lucio. How arrogant the pitiful thing is. How infuriatingly oblivious to his own insignificance. Yes, Valdemar had a deal with him, but they've had countless deals with so many, over the centuries; with nobles and kings and magicians, with wisemen and fools equally. They've been the court physician in kingdoms that had crumbled to dust before the civilization of Vesuvia ever left its cradle. And now, this arrogant, insignificant speck thinks he can imprison someone Valdemar holds dear, against their wishes? Oh, how the Count will rue the day he ever heard their name, or yours. Valdemar puts down their tools - they do not need any for what they are about to do - and heads straight to the throne room, bloodstains on their apron and all. The time has come to review the terms of a deal. Ignoring the guards, they stride right into the throne room, slamming the door shut behind them. What they are about to say is for Lucio's ears alone. When the Count and the Quaestor leave the throne room some minutes later, Lucio is pale and shaking, rudely brushing off the servants' concern. You are immediately set free, and pardoned for anything he might have accused you of in order to have you captured. Valdemar goes back to the dungeons, to continue with their too-long-neglected experiment. Everything is as it should be. All they had to do is explain to Lucio whose heart they will immediately take if you are not set free.

Volta

The moment she hears what the Count is attempting to do, she breaks down in panic. The guests at the dinner table try to look everywhere but at the Procurator's tear-streaked face, trying to maintain a sense of decorum. She doesn't care. She leaves the food half-eaten, leaves the guests behind, and summons her carriage driver - she needs to go to the palace, immediately. It's also the first time that the carriage driver sees the Procurator lash out, urging him to go faster. She barely waits for the carriage to stop, before gathering her skirts and almost running up the palace stairs. She ignores the servants, ignores the chamberlain, ignores everyone who is trying to stop her, heading straight for Nadia's quarters. She interrupts the Countess' meditation - something hardy anyone would ever dare to do - to plead for help, for Nadia's support. She cannot allow Lucio to get away with this. The Procurator hardly makes sense, words flowing from her like a river through a broken dam - she begs and even threatens, promises that she will ask the other courtiers for help should the Countess refuse. The commotion quickly draws an unwelcome audience - Vulgora and Valdemar who both had business in the palace, Vlastomil who was just about to return to his estate and who finds this chaos quite intolerable; even Valerius, who comes to watch the spectacle unfold with a glass of wine in his hand and a disapproving sneer. However, the tiny Procurator's heartfelt, chaotic speech wins them over; Nadia sees it in the eyes of her courtiers. Willing or not, she has little choice but to help, because Volta will certainly never stop trying to find a way to help you, trying to get others to promise their aid. The Countess intervenes, and you are set free - Volta immediately wraps her arms around you; her own knees buckle, but she refuses to let go, which takes the both of you to the floor, and leaves you kneeling in the middle of the palace. She is unashamed of the tears of relief spilling down her cheeks as she covers your face with kisses, promising with every breath that she would never, ever stop trying, that she would never give up on you. The staff politely looks away from this display of raw emotion, but you're certain you see a few clandestine, approving smiles.

  Vlastomil

He is horrified when the news reach him; the rose he had been carefully tending to crumples in his hand. He doesn't care. His mind immediately in overdrive, he all but rips off the gardening gloves and apron, leaving everything scattered around the garden as he rushes to his study. He spends the afternoon, the evening, and nearly the entire night writing letters; promising, threatening, calling in favors, offering favors... slowly but surely turning the court and the nobility against Lucio. Messengers are dispatched, swift and trustworthy, in the night. Many a noble recognizes the Praetor's looping script, even if the letters are signed just "V." Most of them dispose of the letters, burning them; it would do no good to leave proof of that they are about to do, especially if it should fail. But the Praetor's schemes rarely fail...he's had years to build his web of connections. Lucio's invites are declined. Favors refused. Goods for his parties - such as wine and fabrics and luxury spices - withheld. It takes him days to realize he is in the middle of a rebellion. His own nobility turns against him; the palace's opulence dwindles. All the while, Vlastomil himself is the picture of politeness. Warm smiles that never reach his cold, pale eyes. Finally, the Count is invited to dinner at the Praetor's estate. He sees many of the things that were meant for his own table, had the Praetor not turned his suppliers against him. He knows these things are served as a show of power. And he knows about the poisoned blades hidden in the folds of the guests' clothing even before he sees them. He knows that his own swordsmanship would do him no good. Vlastomil bled away his riches, turned his advisors and the nobility against him, and now the only way for the Count to leave this room with his life is to not only free you, but to plead for the Praetor's forgiveness. For taking the one thing that Vlastomil cares for more than anything else. One thing that the Praetor loves. Vlastomil never raised a hand against the Count, he never even raised his voice. But let it never again be doubted that the quill is that much mightier than the sword, a whispered word at the right time more potent than a declaration shouted at the town square. You are released, officially pardoned, offered gold and land for all the troubles you've been put through. As much gold and land as the Count can offer, after the rebellion had bled him dry. Let it never be said that the Praetor doesn't make a formidable enemy. It is a lesson the Count will never forget.

Vulgora

The moment they hear the news, Vulgora makes a beeline for the palace, tossing and smashing everything and anything in their way. The guards who see the approaching Pontifex immediately withdraw inside the gates. To say that the Pontifex had murder written all over their face would be a major understatement. No one before had seen their eyes that exact hue of pale, cold gold - it was beyond rage, mortal anger and mortal bloodlust had nothing on a demon unleashed, and the news of your capture had done just that; what Lucio did unleashed everything Vulgora worked so hard to leash and restrain for your sake. Now, their gauntleted fingers were twitching, searching for the nonexistent throats of their enemies, as the guards inside the gate wiped cold sweat from their brows and tried to swallow their panic. Hearing the news that Lucio had ordered your capture, the Pontifex truly became what they were rumored to be; bloodlust incarnate, an embodiment of rage. They were a one-person army, standing alone at the gates and demanding that Vesuvia hand you over, or they would rip the finely-made gates off their hinges, and paint the halls of the palace crimson in a way that even the red plague did not. But the Pontifex themself was the least of their worries, the guards realize, when the cloud of beetles blots out the sun. They descended upon the palace gardens, leaving bare branches and barren earth in place of the lush, green grass. If you asked the guards after that day, they'd swear that the sky had turned crimson and that the water in the fountain turned to blood... that War had been unleashed, for you. It is unclear what had truly happened. Soldiers so frightened are not to be believed. But even the frightened guards still remember correctly how the last vestiges of color drained from the Count's face when he was summoned, how quickly he'd issued orders for your release. When the tall palace gates opened, still none of the guards dared appear - the sole reason the gates had opened was to let a lone figure out. You walked free - and unafraid - straight into Vulgora's arms. Everyday life in the palace soon resumed - things returned to normal. But no one would soon forget what had happened when you were taken from the Pontifex, and no one would make the same mistake again.

[alternatewarning]

Darkness, Bathed in Blood - Whumptober 2020 Fic

Entry Number 27 (alternate prompt) and 30 for Whumptober 2020: Presumed Dead and Ignoring an Injury

Title: Darkness, Bathed in Blood Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Pairing: None Rating: T Triggers: Gore, torture Summary: Darkness has fallen on the whole of Eos -- fear always brings out the worst in people. A group of terrified citizens capture Ignis to try and find out where the crystal is and lift the darkness but no matter what he will not falter.

Cross posed to Ao3

It was impossible to determine how many days had passed like this, trapped. Outside the entire world was bathed in constant darkness, there was no reset signaling the start of a new day. Ignis thought that he had been here for about five days, but that was an estimate at best. There was no cycle, nothing to indicate when one day started and the next began. The group of people holding him seemed to arrive at random times and in random groups. So far he could pick out six distinct voices, two women, three men, and one more that he suspected was also male but they were quite young and their voice was quite high.

They would arrive in groups from two to six and then take turns. Sometimes they beat him, sometimes they cut at his skin with what he could only assume were knives. They often asked pointed questions in between the pain but they were asking less and less. They were probably figuring out that he wasn’t going to give them any answers. He had no idea who they were or what they wanted.

Clearly, the small group was ill-informed. They had bound his hands up in a chain, leaving just enough slack for him to stand, legs bound, with his arms held over his head. They had also tied a blindfold over his eyes which told him that they had no idea what they were doing. It was well known among the hunters that he was, for all intents and purposes, completely blind. So why bother with the blindfold? It meant they weren’t angry hunters.

“You wanna end this never-ending agony this time?” It was one of the women. Her voice was harsh, like someone had rubbed sandpaper over her vocal cords. Probably a smoker, when indulgences like that were commonplace. Just like every other time they prodded him, Ignis stayed silent, just listening. His only hope of escape was catching them off guard, somehow. While he could still summon his weapons, at this angle there was little he could do against the steel chains. He had already tried. Magic was also an option but without knowing where he was that just invitation disaster.

“Tell us where we can find the crystal!” The same woman bellowed at him. Only a moment later Ignis felt a small gasp forced from his lungs. A blade, a knife, was shoved into his stomach so deep that the hilt cut into his body. Before they had been careful, no wounds that would cause him to lose too much blood or possibly be lethal. Now they were either angry or stupid. She pulled out the blade and quickly forced it back in, tearing the flesh with the sharp blade

The hilt made a sickening squishing noise as it pushed up against the new wound and forced blood down his side. He focused on the details, on her voice, on the height of the wound, on the weapon, that way he could ignore the pain. She pulled out the knife and stabbed his gut a third time, this time with enough force that a hiss of pain skipped past his lips. She was no longer interested in his answers, she was angry.

The advisor could feel blood seeping into his clothes with alarming speed. These wounds were deep enough that if she kept going he could very likely die of blood loss.

“If you kill me, you will never get your answer.” Silence and then a burst of pain in his temple as his head snapped to the side. She’d hit him with the butt of her knife hard enough that he felt dizzy. While he’d angered her, he had pretty much proven that it was only the two of them. For a short moment, he absolutely lamented the loss of his vision. If he could see maybe he would know if she had a key to release him or not. Or even how his restraints locked. But he was not going to let himself be stopped by something he had no control over.

“Shut up! You’ve been playing us for fools for days and I’ve had enough!” Another slice of the knife into flesh. “You probably don’t even know where the crystal is! Which means you’re worthless to us. No one’s coming to get you, Scientia. So how about I just slice your gut open and let you bleed out on the floor?”

The venom in her voice spoke volumes. She was far past angry, instead fueled by malice and hatred. Each word was as sharp as her knife although he wasn’t sure why it was aimed at him.

“It’s all your fault! You and your idiot friends. If you’d protected the king like you’re supposed to we wouldn’t have to live in this endless night! I’m going to make your death slow and very, very painful.” She leaned in close, her breath tricking across his neck like a miasma.

Ignis forced himself to breathe even though taking in air felt like needles through his chest. He wanted to rebut her, tell her all they went through to try to protect him. To protect their king. But he knew it would be pointless. She wouldn’t understand, no one could. No one could ever understand the exact moment, watching his vision burn away and seeing nothing but his best friend limp, unmoving. To feel the only semblance of a family any of them had ripped itself apart in pain and grief. So he stayed silent. He let her bring her hatred against him wound by wound, absorbing her pain as his own.

Eventually, she slowed, the room punctuated by her heavy breathing and the constant drip drip drip of blood on the floor. He was feeling lightheaded and weak as if he would fall over if he’d been able to stand. It hurt to move, it hurt to stay still. He let himself hang from the chain holding his arms, even though he could feel his left shoulder slowly slipping out of its socket. It would be nothing like the pain of his body being torn to ribbons.

“You wanna know why no one’s looking for you?” She sounded smug but also winded. The fury keeping her going had ebbed into his body, tearing it apart with each slash. “We knew they’d come for you so we gave them your glasses. Broken, of course, and a little bit of blood. So now they all think you’re dead. And you will be. Any last words?”

She was right, he was going to die here. Here alone in some sort of shed or building, hidden away in the darkness. But none of that mattered. Not the pain, not the sensation of his body rending with every gasp of breath. What mattered was that he wasn’t going to be there when Noct woke up. That he wasn’t going to be by his side when he returned to claim what was rightfully his. And that hurt more than any torture or any blade ever could.

“My last words are you better get the hell out of here before I do you ten times worse!” Ignis startled at the voice, his head snapping up to see, as if he’d forgotten his world was nothing but an empty nothing. The voice rang in his ears, a welcome familiar comfort. It was deep and carried far, the voice of a man who knew how to both communicate and intimidate.

“Gladio…?” The advisor was surprised at the raspiness of his own voice which almost sounded like he had forgotten how to speak. There was a sudden, loud, thump and the clattering of something across the ground. He knew those sounds. A shield used for offense, Gladio’s full might behind a deadly bodyslam into the ground. And then the knife that had been soaked in his own blood hitting the ground and being kicked away by a trained soldier.

“Ignis, what the hell! I was told you were dead! I came here to collect your body.”

“You came?” He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. Maybe because the last time they had seen each other it had been a rather unpleasant exchange. He had a feeling that another was coming, a tirade on why he should be back at base and not out here, trying to fight. Certainly, this situation was going to turn the tide even stronger in Gladio’s direction.

Ignis heard the snap of steel and the chains holding him upright gave way. His knees folded but Gladio’s arm caught him, carefully lowering him to the ground. The other man’s arm felt like hot led against his skin or was he so cold that it made Gladio feel warm. Ignis felt faint as if he would lose consciousness at any moment.

“Please allow me a moment to recover, then we can return to base.” The Shield didn’t answer but he could feel movement and then there was a quiet mechanical click. The metal bindings on his legs were pulled free and the chain slowly unwrapped from his hands. As circulation rushed back it brought with it a familiar pain but the sensation seemed rather distant now. As if he was observing it in someone else.

“Iggy we have to get you back, and now.” There was no room for argument between his words. The man stood and pulled Ignis to his feet in turn. The sudden movement wrenched away his sense of up and down but he did manage to stay on his feet. He felt Gladio’s hand on his back, trying to lead him by pushing him in the correct direction. Their bodies were so close together that he felt the other’s body tense as Ignis wobbled, unsteady on his feet.

“Ignis-”

“Gladio, I will be fine. I asked for a moment, did I not? I just...need...a moment.” It was getting hard for Ignis to string words together. He didn’t even notice his own knees give in and Gladio caught him again, this time just shifting the other man into his arms. It was obvious by the paleness of his skin and the red soaking the floor that Ignis was bleeding out.

Without giving the blind man a chance to complain he started to carry him. He couldn't run without making the injuries worse so he just walked with steady, long strides.

“Gladio? If I die, please, tell Noctis that-”

“Shush. You’re not going to die. Just hold on, I’ll carry you. And I’ll keep carrying you until you can stand on your own two feet in front of him, you idiot. I wish you wouldn’t...no, this isn’t the time to fight. Just know I’m going to keep holding on.”

Ignis didn’t respond, instead, he just let himself relax into the strong arms that cradled him with a surprising gentleness. It was a long way to base and he knew he couldn’t hold onto his conscientiousness that long. So he was going to enjoy the sensation while he could.

[iwritethat]

Jason Todd: Engravings

A/N: Italics are flashbacks, this ones a lil different to my usual style.

>>>>—————————>

———

"They're cool, kinda badass and luckily these ones are blank!"

"They're cheap and tacky. They haven't been engraved yet - where'd you steal 'em from?" He was always quick to pass judgement but it came from a kind place.

"Stall on the corner, I want to carve my name into it but I'm scared of messing it up."

"..."

———

"(Y/n) - Boss, we've captured the intruder and tied 'em up downstairs - want us to dispose of him?" Your peaceful drink at the bar was interrupted causing a halt to your paperwork as you glared at him.

"My my, so quick to get to the murder. You know it's both polite and resourceful to at least ask what they wanted, so come on." Placing down your pen, you ensured you looked presentable before heading down to the basement with your men strictly following like soldiers.

———

Your hands shook ever so slightly, fingers guiding the knife situated between them in sheer concentration though you'd yet to even graze the shiny steel. You winced, pulling away the blade with a frustrated sigh.

"Give it here, a knife is too big anyway." The exasperated tone of your friend reprimanded, briskly untangling the chain from your fingertips, then glaring at it before shoving it in his pocket and walking off into the alley leaving you with no explanation which left you to business on the streets.

———

The doors flung open signifying your arrival and the discovery was less than pleasant, a decently built male securely tied to a chair with guards standing on either side and his jacket and under armour folded on the table beneath his crimson helmet.

"Why did you uh... remove half of his clothes? That seems a tad unnecessary..."

"Ah that symbol electrocutes anyone in close proximity as Mal discovered but we didn't make that mistake twice." A henchmen quickly answered, sheepish expression on his face.

"Hm, clever. Is Mal okay though?" Not many held concern for their hired guns but you were a rare exception which is why your company were renowned for their loyalty toward you. Nevertheless, one of the guards nodded with a smile, once more placing down the offending piece of armour.

"Alright dumbass, what were you thinking breaking into my fine establishment?" Came your charming voice, fingers grazing across the back of the chair before stopping in front of your ravenette prisoner.

"That's no way to talk to your guests sweetheart, but admittedly it's one of the nicest places I've broken into." His icy gaze finally met yours, and that was when you noticed the reflective glint on his bare chest.

Instantly you knelt before the handsome stranger, fingertips barely brushing the heated silver before you received a vicious threat.

"Touch that and I'll personally make you regret it."

Regardless of his venomous attitude, you gently grasped the engraved dog tags - the gesture definitely not unnoticed by their wearer nor the foreign expression that briefly crossed your features.

———

"Oi!" The moment you'd acknowledged the voice, a slither of steel was slung in your direction capturing the light of the moon as it flew through the air.

You barely caught it, faltering before recognising the item and running your thumb over the new alterations.

'Name: (Y/n) (L/n)' accompanied by your birth date with enough space for another line if needed. However, you filtered through the next one as the tags originally came in a pair but this one was different.

'Name: Jason Todd'

'DoB: 16/08'

———

What surprised the majority in the room was your next swift movement, using the chain entangled around your digits you pulled him down to your level bringing your lips to his ear to prevent eavesdropping guards as a precaution.

"If you're Jason Todd, then what does (Y/n) (L/n) mean to you?" With your secretive whisper, the males muscles instinctively tensed and he looked to you with shock in his irises before scowling.

"That's a bold assumption."

"No, the fact you wear jewellery underneath your getup suggests it's sentimental. As it's a pair of engraved dog tags I would've thought military but there's no ID number and they're close to your heart aren't they?" Was your solemn explanation despite knowing exactly what they represented, though you still felt resentment radiating off of the captive as you waved your guards out of the room to speak more freely.

"How do you know I'm not (Y/n) (L/n) smartass?" Was his comeback, wrists twisting in his restraints.

"Because they're incredibly attractive, duh."

"Wait - you know (Y/n)? If you've done anything -" His voice seemed more lively now, like emotion was tied to that name and the hope of finding them.

"Just tell me why you're here already as I might be able to help." Unbeknownst to him, the person he seemed interested in stood right before him - not that you’d tell Jason that just yet.

———

"Why's your name on here?" You mischievously inquired, smirking at your now flustered friend.

"Wha- well because I made it, it's my signature duh." He shoved his hands into his pockets, gaze diverted to Gothams' skyline and pout upon his lips that only made you laugh.

"Uh-huh suuurre."

"If you don't want it then throw my one back." Came the snappy callout, Jason now looking at you expectantly.

"And split them up? That'll look weird." You shook your head, playfully pulling the tags away from his grip as he went for them and proudly clipped them around your neck.

"People probably say the same about us to be honest."

"What was that red?!" You didn't quite hear whatever he'd muttered under his breath, but knowing it would've been somewhat sentimental his defensive reply was expected.

"Nothing jeez!"

———

"I want Black Masks location. Now your turn."

"Roman has no influence over me or my club but I know some regulars who work for him so we can sort something out." With a brisk motion you'd slit the restraints on his wrists thus freeing him.

It was a stupid thing to do, your fingers instantly reaching for your necklace out of nervousness once you'd turned your back on him - it was a habit, you'd put your faith into a common criminal and were hoping he wouldn't kill you now he had the opportunity.

Instantly you realised your mistake, seconds later you ended up with your back roughly trapped against the table, knife to your throat and 6ft war god holding you right where he wanted you.

"Thanks for the assist doll, but you never answered my question about -" As he pulled back, there was a strain, a twinkle of metal against metal as the two chains kept you tied together.

His gaze flicked from the interlocked dog tags then back to you, recognition flooding him instantly as the knife clattered against the tile and his brows furrowed as of analysing you.

"You were right, (Y/n) is incredibly attractive..." Jason was breathless, a contrast of awe and snugness on his handsome features.

"Speaking of, clothes!" You’d grabbed the folded material and shoved it into his chest with a huff whilst subtly attempting to hide your undoing due to the close proximity.

It didn’t take much to detangle the chains so he could get dressed but not without a somewhat interesting reunion - it had been a few years since you were misguided street kids.

"I heard you were dead." Jason started, no doubt he’d inquired about you on the streets but judging by the last man any of your old acquaintances saw you with, you didn’t blame them for their presumptions.

"I heard you were dead."

"Touché, I came back though. Not 100%, but back." Jason commented, scratching the back of his neck which already told you this was a sensitive subject that you noted to delve into in the near future among other things.

"We really changed huh, you got adopted by Bruce Wayne, I got taken in by Carmine Falcone and now we're on the same side again. Sort of..." You playfully shrugged, offering your friend a small smirk.

"Falcone - you became a freaking underground crimelord?!" His shock was evident, jacket dropping to floor whilst he rubbed his temples then gesturing for you to elaborate.

"Says you! Look I did what I did to survive, after Falcone was killed I stayed out of everyone's way and kept this club and it’s profits under my control. No one owns me anymore. But nice to see you kept my nickname for you Red Hood!"

“I knew you’d do great and I have my reasons, it’s not just because of you. Anyway, Black Mask - we should probably y’know...” The big bad vigilante was flustered, a gift of yours that supposedly maintained its effectiveness through the change and so you couldn’t help but continue.

“Are you sure, you did call me attractive.”

“Yeah well you are so... whatever. And besides, you’re rich but kept the cheap dogtags so I guess I’m not the only sentimental one.” Jason closed the distance as he spoke, a gentle brush over your heart as he tugged on your tags with a smirk.

Since you seem in so much of a hurry I’d love to properly catch up some time if you’d allow it. So I f you’re quite done staring at my lips Jason I’ve got a club to open and there’s someone we need to speak to.” You tilted your head in a challenging manner before making your way to the staircase with a devious smirk as you finished your implied invitation.

“...I haven’t missed you at all. Just so you know (Y/n)!” Your partner hollered after you, hastily throwing on his jacket and grabbing the helmet before joining your side with a playful nudge as you walked to the bar.

———

"Even though you're rich now, you still haven't grown out of throwing things at people!" You mocked anger, huffing at the offender.

"Not people, just you." Jason wittily replies along with a wink.

"Oh wow, thanks I'm honoured." Your sarcasm was fluent, inspecting what he’d thrown at you before commenting on the chain.

"Jason what's this, they're replicas of the dog tags I wear already."

"Yeah I know, but these are silver. They're better." His light blush went amiss as he stopped before you with his explanation.

"You brought these?"

"Figured I might as well get you something, besides like you said, I'm rich now."

"Keep 'em." You effortlessly tossed them back, Jason catching them with both disbelief and confusion.

"But I-"

"I don't care - I don't want them. I like my ones - they're had crafted by Jason Todd and I have the crafters signature to prove it. Although since they are almost a matching set..." You trailed off, Jason's curiosity piqued as you unclasped the silver and walked behind the male who, despite his wealthy residence, kept his red hoodie.

"You should keep it, that way you'll have me close to your heart like you are to mine." Came your continuation, latching the tags around his neck whilst you walked around to face him, fingers lingering on the silver in the centre of his chest.

"Never knew you cared."

"Oh I don't, but I still have the original Red. And the originals are always more valuable."

———

[aurora-the-kunoichi]

A Year Without - Part Two

Warnings: Mention of alleged killings and rape

The back of your skull was throbbing as you slowly became aware of your surroundings. Your hands immobile outstretched and your feet anchored to the floor. By the soft tug of rope against your wrists you had been tied not shackled. A small silver lining to the shit show that was no doubt about to happen. The light was turned down low thankfully, you didn’t know if you could handle anything brighter then what the lights were set at right now.

Testing the strength of your bonds you found them cinch tighter as you struggled. If you worked them too much they would cut off the circulation to your hands and feet, not good. Your mind began to catch up with the rest of your body and the last moments you remembered were blurry at best. Karai had talked about her fun and a reunion. Then like a bolt of lightning it hit you, the green skin and enormous physique of the blurry mass converging on you. It couldn’t be Leonardo, he wouldn’t be helping the foot, wouldn’t be serving Karai. You had to have been hallucinating from the tranquilizer dart you were dosed with.

After what seemed like hours the lights in the room finally snapped on illuminating your prison. The walls were stark white, with one obvious large two way mirror near the door to your left.A hefty arm less grey upholstered chair sat in the far left corner of the room and a large metal table in the center, fucking cozy. The size of the room was rather large, maybe twenty feet by twenty feet and the smell reminded you of a hospital, sterile but sour.

“It’s rude to leave your guest waiting!” you hollered dryly to your captures eyeing the window with contempt. It was true, you had been sitting in this awful room for at least two hours unattended, let’s get this show on the road.

The sound of the handle turning gave way to your host as she sauntered into the space like she was the queen of fucking England. Her hips swung with gusto and her smile was honey sweet. No longer in her kunoichi garb Karai was dressed in dark sapphire skirt that hit just below her knees with a slit on the side that rode up nearly to her cunt. Her white quarter sleeve blouse was partially unbuttoned leaving her small yet perky breasts visible from the low V. The long black tresses of her hair were tied loosely up above her head while the black high heels that adorned her feet clicked sinfully on the cement floor as she made her way over to you. The cherry on top that completed her arrogant demeanor was a blue lollipop stuck playfully in her mouth and a large tablet in her right hand.

“Calm down my sweet, I wanted you fully awake for this next part.” Karai cooed stepping up to you her breasts pressing up against yours. Her breath was sweet from her treat and she leaned in close, “I have something I want you to watch.” Her wet sugary tongue darted out and took a quick lick of your cheek and jumped back as you tried to head butt the offending woman.

“Don’t you fucking touch me.”

“Tsk, tsk, what a dirty mouth you have. I have a gift for you Y/N, a gift of knowledge that only I can give you. Knowledge you’ve been searching for, for a year’s time.”

Your defiance slammed to a halt as Karai’s wicked smile grew to a terrifying level. Popping the treat make in her mouth her slender fingers drummed on the tablet as she leaned in again her lips brushing up against your ear. “Have you been searching for someone, someone special? Someone who went missing abruptly a year ago today?”

Your blood ran cold, she was talking about Leonardo. The foot has had Leo all this time. Anger bubbled quickly to the surface your limbs trembling as it consumed you. You were going to rip her fucking face off. “Where is he?! Where are you keeping Leonardo?!”  

“How long did you look for him?” she ignored your question stepping back turning on the tablet. Her fingers flew over the smooth surface searching for something. “How far did you search, the island of Manhattan, New Jersey perhaps? Maine? Either way it wasn’t going to be far enough, after we subdued him, which took quite a few of my men I might add. God he is strong and talented, by the gods is he talented.” You didn’t like the dreamy look in her eyes. “We didn’t keep him here, oh no, we didn’t want you to find him, what fun would that have been? So, the first thing we did was sedate big bad Leonardo and tossed him on a plane to Japan. He was sent to a very special facility where we house some of our most exceptional doctors and people we have acquired over the years with special gifts, gifts of persuasion if you know what I mean? Let me tell you, he was a hard nut to crack. But we knew this from the start so a process had to be started and it began with sociological warfare when poor ol Leo came too.”

Karai flipped the tablet to show you what she had been searching for, a security tape and the main focal point was Leonardo. His battered green body was shackled to the wall covered in blood. You could see the damage they had done to him on the roof. Cuts and gouges littered his once lustrous green skin making your rage boil hotter.  His person was stripped of all his belongings except his boxer briefs leaving him unprotected and vulnerable. He was obviously sans his mask with a long deep cut that ran up the back of his skull. He struggled yanking at his metal restraints demanding to know where he was being held and to be released but he was going nowhere.

A man in a grey suit slowly approached the leader in blue and held out a picture. You watched Leo’s eyes widen in shock and shake his head vigorously, “No!” he bellowed. “You’re lying!”

“They’re all dead Leonardo. When they came to save you they were slaughtered by Karai’s men one by one. The orange one, Michelangelo I believe his name was, fell first, he was the easiest to kill, a dagger to the throat was his end. I heard he begged for his life before Karai stomped on his neck effectively finishing him off. The purple, Donatello, was second; a katana between his shell angled up through his ribs did him in. A painful way to go if you ask me drowning in his own blood. Oh how I would have loved to have gotten a hold of his brilliant mind for study. Raphael the red brute was the most difficult to kill, took nearly 20 men to get him to the ground where they slit his throat. You should have heard him gurgle and grunt as he struggled to take his last breath. Your father was the easiest to find once we hacked Donatello’s computer system. It gave us a map right to his location and was slaughtered right in his bed.”

You couldn’t be 100% sure of what the man in grey was showing Leonardo but you were pretty sure it was a photo shopped picture of his dead brothers and father. But you knew it was a lie; all three of his brothers including Splinter were alive and well no doubt oblivious to your disappearance. But the photo must have been convincing enough, even through the poor video feed you could see the tears well up in his blue eyes. You wanted to call out to him, to tell him not to listen but that would be stupid and useless,  just like you were feeling right now.

Leo shook his head angrily blinking away the tears the threatened to spill. “No, you couldn’t have. My brothers are well trained and able to defeat your inadequate soldiers. Always have and always will.”

The doctor smiled and flipped another photo forward and the look on Leo’s face made your heart wretch inside your chest. “Your girlfriend was next, of course not before the men had some fun with her. You know when she cums she made the most beautiful sounds, like an angel. She cried out for you of course, but you weren’t there to save her. What a hero you turned out to be, couldn’t save your brothers or your love. Her end was swift if that pleases you, you can tell by the angle of her neck, quick and painless yet effective. Now you’re alone in this facility with no family and no lover. No one to save you, no one who cares.”  

Karai’s finger came up and paused the video with Leo mid scream, his face contorted in horror and fury in the last frame.

“Luckily we have a very good photo shop artist on hand that created several rather convincing death photos of all of you. It took a few days but as his body weakened from the lack of food and water he gave in to the plausible story. He was inconsolable for over a month hanging listless from his confines. We let that sink in before we started in on the physical torture.” Karai turned the tablet back around ignoring the horrified look on your face. “He cried out your name for several days after that. It was heart wrenching really, and I took pleasure in each agonizing syllable he cried out.” Her green eyes rose to meet yours and her free hand reached out wiping away the tears that were staining your cheeks.  

“I’m going to kill you.” You whispered with venom uncaring that the wretched woman had her hands on you. At this point you didn’t care; you had already killed her three times in your head.

“Oh I would love to see you try my dear.” Karai giggled returning her attention back to the tablet. A few more finger swipes and she turned it back around pressing play once again. The date on the time stamp said it was a month after his abduction, his eyes hollow and uncaring still hanging from his shackles. You could tell he had lost weight, in mass and in muscle. They must not been feeding him much.

Three men came into view all holding tazer sticks, their smiles wild with amusement. The first touched the hot end to the exposed side of Leo’s body between his plastron and carapace but Leo only shifted in his shackles groaning softly. Angered by the lack of his response, the other two men followed suit going in tandem shocking different parts of his skin. This time Leo arched crying out in pain. Over and over they attacked him all at once, Leo’s howls of anguish echoing in the empty room.

You wished the video didn’t have sound; the unnatural bellow of his agony would haunt you for however long they allowed you to live. The sight of his body recoiling from the current made you sick to your stomach. He had been here for a year enduring this torture, day in and day out. You weren’t there to help him, none of you were. He suffered alone with these animals, these heartless demons.

Again Karai stopped the feed and dropped the tablet back to her side and chomped down on the lollipop in her mouth finishing it off quickly. “You get the idea right? We put him through hell and broke him; we broke the legendary Leonardo; the man with the plan, the untouchable mutant. He was ours to mold, to retrain as we sought fit. It took longer than we expected, he was strong willed but no one can resist the charm of Dr. Langston for long. But Leo does hold the record for withstanding his treatments the longest. Dr. Langston was impressed to say the least.” The kunoichi laughed swinging away from you to walk back over to the door and knock twice. “He’s an obedient foot soldier now, and my favorite if I might add. But I’ll let you be the judge of that.” As the last words fell from her cherry red lips the door opened slowly.

Out of the darkened doorway he came, each step he took was of power and arrogance. Gone was his usual wear, replaced with jet black pants and specially made foot wear. Wide black leather wraps encompassed his thick forearms traveling up to intertwine with his three fingered hands. His blue katanas given to him by his father were absent replaced by two loosely hung red twin katana tied to his hip. Each shoulder had metal plates over them stamped with the Foot’s emblem and to complete the sinister look a black mask was worn where the blue once laid.

“Leonardo please don’t be rude, please go greet our new guest.”

As he closed in you saw his once brilliant cerulean blue eyes dulled to a grayish blue, the life once aflame in his stare was gone. There was no honor in his gaze as he looked you over like a piece of meat. No empathy and certainly no love for you. What had they done to him?

The last video you were forced to endure Leo looked frail and broken but that look was long gone. His muscle mass had returned leaving him looking toned and threatening. With each move of his body the muscle flexed and pulsed under his scaled skin making your body start to ache. If you had seen him in any other circumstance you would have though he looked good, good enough to eat.

“Leo?” you called tentatively tugging slightly on your bonds. Would he remember you at all?

As he neared you could tell the change in his smell. The hint of tea and incense was long gone overpowered by the stench of death and steel. His dull eyes narrowed in on you getting too close for comfort. His hand reached up cupping your chin tilting your head to and fro examining your face before his lips parted gifting you with the first sweet sound of his voice in a year.

“What a pretty little toy you’ve got Karai. Is she one of the reasons I was summoned to this country?”

The sound of Karai’s heals echoed throughout the room as she crossed over to the both of you. Her hands ran seductively down the dense muscles in his arms and pressed her lips to the tattoo there.

“Yes my love, she is a gift to you from me. This sweet little creature stole the other three of your kind from our master brainwashing them. And if she knows what’s good for her, she will tell us where they hide. But first I think it would be prudent to play with your gift. After all what good is a toy if you can’t play with it?”

“What do you think we should do first?” Leo clipped sinisterly squeezing your chin painfully tight in his massive grasp.

Karai’s ivory hand snaked up and around his thick neck tilting his head towards hers, “This one will lie and tell you that you once loved her, but let’s show her who you really belong too.” Her fingers twirled around the tails of his black mask and Leo leaned into her, his mouth slanted enthusiastically over hers. She immediately opened her mouth giving his tongue access making a show of it leaving you helpless to watch the love of your life kiss another woman.

Part One

@southernblossoms @blossom-skies @imthegreenfairy88

[jenovahh]

KYKM - 14 Months, 7 1/2 Days

Though his heart leaps in his chest, only through years of practice is he able to maintain his neutral expression as he turns to the owner of the voice that had called his name.

There you stand, the very picture of disbelief, greatsword looking as it might fall out of your hand at any moment. Your emotions flit across your face too fast for him to take note of each of them, stunned for so long that eventually more footsteps are heard as the Scions emerge from the stairwell.

“Warrior of Light, is all well,” First one gasp, than many eyes land on him.

“Zenos?”

“But how did he,”

“By what manner,”

All chatter is silenced as he shifts his weight, sending the group of heroes on guard. “Well. I can see why our entrance was met with little resistance.” The white-haired male, Thancred he remembers, unsheathes his gunblade. The others follow suit, weapons wielded as a wry smile tugs at his lips. “How on earth did you get here?”

“I walked.” He drawls, further amused as it seems to rile up the other man.

“Thancred, ‘tis not the how that matters...” Urianger begins, eyes narrowing on him, “but why.”

“And just what will you all do if I refuse to tell any of you about my reasoning?” He challenges, hand slowly reaching for his sword as he delights in watching them squirm.

A single upraised hand from you is all it takes to stop their bickering, eyes cold and hard as they focus on him. “Keep going.”

Immediately the notion of being alone with him doesn’t sit well with anyone. “But we can’t leave him,” Alphinaud tries but you stop him with just a look.

“What can you do now, that you could not when we were liberating Ala Mhigo?” you ask lowly. Alphinaud freezes at that, before quickly realizing your anger is not directed at him, but at the man across the room. You are right though; there is no challenging someone of his might, he who has defied death itself. 

“Continue on to Vauthry.” you order, turning back to face him. “I will deal with him.” The other Scions all pass each other worried glances, but do as you say, continuing further upward the city.

Alone with you now, he realizes just how long it had been since he had last laid eyes on you. Not much has changed, save for that hardened look in your eyes, though it was not hard to guess that was of his own doing. “Must you look so hostile Warrior?”

Your eyes narrow impossibly further, slinging your greatsword to sit upon your shoulder. “Why are you here?” you ask, practically hissing like a snake with the most potent of venom. Shrugging, he gives no effort to appear peaceable as he moves from behind the counter, stepping out into the open space of the plaza.

“Why do you think?” he replies with his own question. You are barely controlling your fury, he can tell. It is taking all of your control to hold yourself back in this moment. “I came for you.” he answers truthfully, resting a hand on his sword.

“You would chase me across worlds, for your duel wouldn’t you?” The sound of swords connecting is sharp, familiar in his ears as you stand before him, pressing your sword against his own. He had not seen you move but had felt it all the same, his blade singing from the contact. His blood followed suit, rushing through his veins.

“I would chase you across worlds hero. I am here, am I not?” he murmurs, sending you skidding backwards across polished marble floor. He calls his power forth, feeling your strength brush harshly against his own. You do not speak again, launching yourself at him, swinging your sword that is practically the size of your body.

The ferocity you bear against him is something he has not felt since the first time you truly came to blows as equals.

When you had fought to win.

The anger in your eyes shines brighter than any gem, the gleam of your power brighter than the constant light that bathed this accursed land. Try as he might, the call of battle is infectious, tantalizing, that he can’t help but break out into a feral grin as you somersault into the air to bring down your sword upon him once more.

Show me why I chose you, and you alone.

It would be a disservice to you, to hold back when you give him your all.

Zenos is not above being flashy; unleashing Concentravity with little effort to gain some ground between the two of you. He was glad he had chosen to bring along his sword revolver, the gears clicking within like music as they came to a stop. He starts with The Swell, hair whipping about his shoulders as the wind picks up.

With a swipe of his blade, petals fly through the air as well as you, barely able to catch yourself before slamming into a wall much like Ran’jit did earlier. Your reflexes are better, faster, allowing you to use the momentum to vault yourself off the wall, sword aimed straight for him as he moves to quickly dodge out the way. A nearby counter is destroyed by the impact, your expression unchanged as you emerge from the rubble.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you.” You growl, reaching your hand out as dark, purple magic oozes in your hand. Clutching your stomach you cough as it disappears inside you, eyes glowing a sharp purple before you throw yourself at him once more. You swing your greatsword with remarkable ease, hitting him with the same attack over and over, to the point where he must dual wield if he wants a chance of withstanding your assault.

You have grown in strength.

That isn’t to say he had been slacking either, grinning as he merges the power of The Swell and The Storm, electric wind surrounding the two of you, sparks racing across your skin. You grit your teeth, eyes shining brightly as you resist his strength, his might that he had built to keep up with your constantly changing power. 

He had only ever wanted to match his equal. Ever since the beginning.

“Nothing could keep me from you, dear Warrior.” With a slice of his blade you hiss in pain as he nicks your arm, your eyes like steel as they look upon him. But even beneath that flinty stare, he can see the exhilaration that is mirrored in his own eyes. The thrill of battle that keeps you both coming back. 

“How did you even get here?” you ground out, locking blades with him once more, your fangs bared to catch his eye. Claws prepared to rip and tear and maim his skin. You had yet to draw his blood, but that did not mean he would not have a bruise or two tomorrow. 

For even for when you did not hold back, you still did, unable to cut him.

“Does the how matter, hero? Even your friend had said so, did he not...” he dodges a series of black pillars surrounding you, swapping swords to bring out Ame-no-Habakiri, it’s red tint shining brightly in the room. “It only matters why.”

“Then why?!” You roar, clutching your chest, more black, dark magic pouring from your body. He watches in mild shock as a shadow figure like yourself emerges, red eyes flashing brightly as an equally dark sword manifested. “Why would you hunt me down?!” You rush him first, your shadow not far behind.

Wielding two swords, he fends off the dual attacks, nearly overwhelmed by your power. “It hurts to see you!” you yell, swinging your sword in a dangerous arc, his sword barely able to stop the blow from landing. “It hurts to know you lied!” he gasps as your expression finally breaks, tears streaming from your eyes as you prepare another devastating attack.

But there was nothing more devastating than seeing you shed tears.

“I did lie.” he murmurs, taking advantage of your emotional state to send you flying away from him, the shade vanishing in wisps of shadow. “I did hurt you.” Face still tear stained, you run at him again, teeth gleaming. “I have hunted you down.” Catching your sword with his, he moves quickly, twirling with all the grace of a trained solider. You’re too slow this close, one hand knocking the wind out of you with a swift punch to the gut, the other taking your greatsword in hand and flinging it across the floor.

“I should be clearer with my words.” The movements are practically muscle memory as you struggle to fight back, his hand blocking yours before he could disable your movement. You are still very much a threat without a weapon to channel your aether, he had to remind himself, but in hand to hand combat he was superior in pure physical strength. Exhaustion shows in your blows, having spent all of your energy on bigger attacks. 

He goes on the offensive, feels the force of his blows on your body that he knows hurts, but holding back would be an insult. “When I said nothing could keep me from you, I meant nothing.” he growls as your fist strikes him across the face. He’s quick to retaliate, catching your chin with a solid uppercut, blood dripping from your busted lip. “Have I not chased you across worlds, to see you?” He barely dodges a swipe at his face, taking that wrist in hand to swing you into the closest wall.

And still you stand.

Rushing you down, he pins you there, placing his thigh between your legs, pinning your arms against the wall. You are too weak too fight against him as he bears his weight against you, your eyes wild and defiant as you glare up at him. “Get away from me!” you snarl, struggling against your restraints.

“Never,” he whispers, letting go of one wrist for a moment, to capture your chin, bringing your lips to his own. You struggle still, even as his mouth moves across your own, body trying to push him away. Your free hand finds his hair and pulls, bringing a deep moan from his throat that leaves you stunned. Pulling away, his eyes are half lidded, desire dancing brightly within them. “You are free to do that again, if you wish.” he thrums, delighting in your expression.

You are bloodied and bruised, hair wild and mussed. Your armor is stained with your blood and his own, from a glancing blow he had not realized you had landed. Your eyes are still frenzied, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you stare back at him in disbelief.

Never have you looked more beautiful.

“What other reason,” he grips your chin tighter, presses closer against you, “would I have to cross worlds, hunt you down? For one battle?” he laughs. “Nay...you are mine hero.” His grin is roguish as he flips his hair from his face, eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “You know this.”

Your face is red hot, body slowly relaxing in his hold. That grip on his hair loosens and your struggles slowly cease. “To chase you down across realms...to follow you for months on end. To make peace with the only other Garleans on the continent. Living amongst your people for months as I researched a way to find you.” His grip unconsciously tightens. “I have trained with you, rescued you, stayed by your side. Why else would I have come?”

All is silent save for the sound of your shared breath, the sound of heartbeats pounding in his ears. “You came for me?” you whisper so quietly, that were he not so close he would not have heard you.

“Always.” He whispers, claiming your lips once more.

[shctteredillusions]

[ @for-a-prxce ] 

Small feet froze in their steps, blue eyes suddenly grew wide as the all too familiar scent hit her like a semi barreling down the highway. Pink lips part, a shaky breath released as she tried to will herself to move yet couldn’t. Her grip on Cucciolo’s leash tightened, pulling the small pug closer to her as she tried to brace herself and yet no preparation could have helped the moment that voice reached her ears.

“Well, look who it is,” the sound his snicker has shivers trailing down her spine, teeth biting down upon her own lips as she fought back the urge to just run, to put as much distance between them as she possibly could. She knew it was no use though, if he wanted he’d find her no matter where she went. With one deep breath, she turned around on heel, leveling Arsenio with a firm gaze though the way her body nearly trembled gave away just how scared she truly was.

“I’d heard that you were living in this area, there were even some saying you seemed happy, but look at you,” the mere sight of her ex standing there brought back all those memories she wished to forget. The pain she endured at his hands. “Just as pathetic as you always were.” She nearly choked on her next breath, refusing to show how bad just seeing him affected her let alone how just a few words had her breaking all over again. All this time she had worked to build herself back up, every time she had tried to tell herself she wasn’t some worthless girl, whether she believed herself or not was destroyed with just one sentence.

“Fitting though, seeing the sham of an apartment you live in. It suits you.” Tears brimmed at the corners of her blue eyes, her head lowering as soft blond locks fall forward to hide her face. Pathetic is right, she couldn’t even look at him. Why did she ever think things would get better? “Still just the runt of the litter, just as much of a disgrace as you always were. And I didn’t think it was possible yet you went and proved me wrong and somehow managed to become even uglier over the years. It’s embarrassing that people even know I dated someone like you, even if it was only to get in good with that father of yours. Shame his blood is on your hands, he was the only alpha smart and willing enough to even try to put you in your place. Never worked though, because that’s just how pathetic you really are.”

“I even heard the rumors floating around about you and some guy, he must be stupid to even want to be around someone like you. Either that or desperate.” Small hands curled into fists, unable to stop the trembling of her petite frame no matter how hard she tried. It wasn’t until the sound of a growl reached her, the smallest of barks tossed towards Arsenio that she was able to pull herself from her own destructive thoughts. She blinks away the tears as she stares down at the pug standing defensively in front of her, just a pup yet so willing to stand before a wolf with such bravery. “Oh look, even your dog is just as pathe-,”

As he spoke, Cipriana suddenly rose her head, narrowing those blue eyes at Arsenio with a fire burning within them that he’d never seen before. “Shut. Up.” Cipriana growled out, though she continued to shake it was now out of anger and the restraint of preventing herself from hurting Arsenio herself. She could take him saying anything he wanted about her, but Cucciolo and Emil was the only joy she had in her life, it was because of this little pug she had met that amazing friend and she wasn’t going to stand there and take him saying such things about either of them.

His surprise was clear upon his sharp features, blond brows knitting before laughter fell from his lips. “Oh so maybe there is something different about you.” His laugh grew louder, the same aggravating laugh she always knew him for. “But tell me pup, is there any bite to that weak little bark of yours?”

She wrapped the leash tighter around her hand, keeping the pug close as she approached the other blond, seething with a wave of anger unlike anything she’d ever felt before. His laughter grated on her restraint, it seemed even after all this time, it didn’t matter how many times she had beaten him in a duel, she was never going to win any respect from him or those people she once called family.

“I’ll show you bite,” her leg shot out, a direct hit between his legs as the Lycan fell to his knees with a sharp groan of pain. Making sure to keep Cucciolo out of the way, her frame shifted and the other leg came around and smacked directly into the side of his head, tossing Arsenio several feet to the side. Cipriana bent down, scooping the pug into her arms before she quickly approached and stood over her ex. “Say whatever the fuck you want about me but don’t you ever, ever fucking speak of my dog or my friend like that again.” The growl that rung in her tone was more than enough to show how serious she was, venom dripping with each word before she gave one last menacing glare before walking away.

The moment she stepped into her apartment, the door slammed behind her as she dropped Cucciolo’s leash and fell to the floor. The little pug curled his way onto her lap, the tears finally falling from deep blue eyes as her head sunk into her hands and she released all that she had been holding back since the very first moment she picked up his scent. She had worked so hard to rebuild herself, to move on past all that Arsenio had done to her and with just those few moments of seeing him again, all that work went down the drain. She felt like nothing more than the worthless pup from all those years ago all over again.

But there was another scent, a softer, warmer one that fluttered through her open windows and carried along on the gentle breeze. Rushing to her feet, she furiously wiped away the tears that had trailed down her cheeks, she raced forward to begin the coffee brewing and trying her best to adjust her appearance in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice. But it was no use, the tears continued to well up in her bloodshot eyes no matter how much she blinked them away and her body still trembled like a leaf in the wind. 

Please, Emil, don’t notice me.