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dragonologist-in-the-making · 3 years

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Paper Rings

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Summary: On his first ride to Hogwarts, James befriended the girl who was obsessed with shiny things. Over their schooling together, their friendship turned into so much more.

A/N: lmao I suck at summaries. Also I’m back sorry for the random hiatus (and sorry that posting will almost definitely not be consistent after this either). I had this idea months ago, inspired by Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings, and I only just got around to writing it asdfghjkl. Still obsessed with James though rip me I just want someone to love me like this.

Warnings: Mentions of eating (briefly), otherwise just a lot of fluff.

Wordcount: 4k (wow)

...

Little James Potter waved goodbye to his parents as the train took off from the platform, nervous about his first journey to the infamous Hogwarts, but excited to discover all the great things his parents had told him for himself. First though: finding a carriage.

Trying not to show his nerves, he wandered along the corridor, peeping into the carriages to see if there was one he could join. For the most part, he found them all too full, too loud to juggle his nerves, or the students too old and intimidating. The days would come where James would rule the corridors of the castle, but the eleven year old boy on the train was just hoping to make a friend he could share this new adventure with.

As fate would have it, he found just that and so much more. In a carriage to herself sat a young girl, his age, her face turned away from him looking out the window. The only thing he could see was a petite sparkling bow, sitting neatly in her (y/h/c) hair.

Without thinking about it, he knocked gently on the compartment door, sliding it open as she turned to look at him inquisitively. Her (y/e/c) eye’s glittered as her lips pulled into a smile, creating a complete sense of comfort for James to ask. “Do you mind if I sit?” She nodded eagerly, gathering up a few books she had dumped on the opposite seat and dropping them into her lap. “I’m James.” He smiled.

“(y/n). It’s nice to meet you.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a short while, listening to the laughs of older students, friends reuniting after a summer apart, and watching the landscape whip by them out the window.

“I like your bow, by the way.” James spoke up, feeling glad he did when an excited smile broke across her face, looking as if he’d told her she’d won the lottery.

“Thank you! I love the way it sparkles.” She said, gently pulling it from her hair and twisting it in the sunlight, showing how rainbows danced in the glitter and were thrown across their compartment. Satisfied, she used it to clip back the hair that was now falling into her face, and their conversation moved on, following each and every thought they were having, becoming fast friends. James didn’t think the journey could get any better until two boys showed up at their door and asked if they could join them, setting everlasting friendships in stone.

As the train pulled up to Hogwarts, any nervousness James had been feeling was gone. Instead, the only thought he had was that he couldn’t be more glad he sat in the compartment of the girl with the sparkling bow.

…

Their first year passed in a blur, and the Marauders spent the majority of it in each other’s company, laughing their days away.

Now, summer had come and gone, and their second year at Hogwarts was in full swing. They walked into their charms class together, laughing about a joke Sirius had made at James’ expense. (y/n) sat next to the curly-haired boy at their desk, as Remus Sirius and Peter sat at the one adjacent to them.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I didn’t make the team last year! No first year has made a house team in like 80 years! I’m telling you though, I’ll make it on this year, and I’ll be the best chaser this school has ever seen.” James protested, huffing as he put his textbook in the middle of the table for him and (y/n) to share. She laughed at him softly, hand patting his shoulder as the other boys got lost in their own conversation.

“I know you will, Jamie. And I’ll be there cheering you on every step of the way.” His cheeks redenned at her words, but luckily their attention was turned away by Professor Flitwick.

“Now students, the charm I’ll be teaching you today is more of a fun one to start off the year than anything you’ll likely need in your everyday lives. As always, I don’t expect you to create chaos by using these charms” – he turned his gaze to a particular group of students at this point who were all busily looking elsewhere – “but simply to enlighten yourselves and to show you what magic can do. So, the charm we’ll be learning today is how to make things glitter.”

James heard an almost inaudible gasp next to him, and he could feel the excitement radiating off (y/n). He chuckled, expecting nothing less; he’d known her for a year now, and if it wasn’t the bow in her hair there was always something shiny on her at any given time.

Flitwick talked about the details of the charm, how it could be applied subtly, only giving a faint sheen, or how it could be made much more obvious. Finally, he gave them the charm and told everyone to repeat after him. “Now, like I said, just because this is a fun charm doesn’t mean it’s an easy one, and I don’t expect you to get it on your first attempt. Just keep repeating the charm and-oh!” He broke off suddenly, just as James’ vision went hazy. Once he’d focused, he saw he was surrounded by a cloud of individual glitter specs floating around them, almost as if they were in their own galaxy. His gaze shifted to its centre, shining most brilliantly of all as her proud and excited smile dazzled him, making him forget entirely they were still in their charms classroom.

“Well done Miss (y/n)!” Flitwick’s voice broke through their bubble, and slowly each star seemed to fade out of existence, until they were back in their regular old classroom, thirty pairs of eyes trained on them. “You certainly felt the spirit of the charm and went above and beyond. 10 points to (y/h). Now, if you could help Mr Potter whilst we all get back to it!”

Chatter burst out the classroom almost immediately, partners working together trying to enchant an object of theirs to take on the glittery effect. Sirius turned to her, rolling his eyes half-heartedly.

“Becoming a teachers pet now are we, (y/l/n)?” She rolled her eyes back, waving her wand to produce a cloud of glitter that settled in Sirius’ hair, contrasting sharply against its darkness.

“It’s sparklesSirius, what did you expect? Now c’mon, this is the one lesson I won’t let you not do the work in. Make some glittery greatness and I’ll bake you all some cookies when I next steal James’ cloak to go to the kitchens.” With those words, the three boys turned their entire focus to the task at hand, while James still seemed slightly awestruck next to her. “You alright, J?”

“That was amazing (y/n/n). I had no idea you could do that.”

“Well I guess you can’t know until you try.” She shrugged, picking up her quill and placing it in front of him. “Charm my quill.”

“Why me? You could just do it yourself.” James asked, confused why she didn’t do it herself since she was clearly more than capable. Once again, she shrugged, looking into his eyes as she uttered the words so nonchalantly that would stick with him for years to come.

“Well, Flitwick said you needed to practise. Plus, it’ll mean more to me if every time I look at my quill I know that you’re the reason it’s shining.”

Within a heartbeat, James had uttered the incantation and a subtle shimmer had settled over the feather, imperceptible until it was moved and caught the light. The smile he saw when he looked over at (y/n) made him vow to himself that as long as he was around, she would never have an ordinary quill again.

True to his word, every time she brought out a new quill, he was quick to snatch it from her and place the simple charm on it. It became an unspoken promise between the two of them, and every time James saw that sparkle from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

. . .

True to her word, (y/n) was there for all of James’ games, cheering him on from the side of the pitch, always the first to reach him when the game was over. High or low, win or lose, she was always there to remind him that he had played amazingly, and that she was proud of him.

After one such game in their fourth year, Gryffindor narrowly losing to Slytherin, she was at his side so quickly that he would have thought she had apparated if he knew this wasn’t possible. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, feeling the slight shaking of his shoulders. “Oh, James.” She quickly ushered him off the pitch before he attracted eyes, assuring him that Sirius and Remus would collect his things from the changing room and bring them back to his dorm. Once they reached his dorm, she sent him to shower, promising that she would be there for him once he was back.

Sure enough, he came out of the shower in fresh clothes and damp hair, and she was still on his bed, patiently waiting for him. She held her hand out to him, a silent invitation, and as soon as he took it she pulled him to her side and once again enveloped him in a hug.

“I’m so proud of you, Jamie.” She whispered, squeezing him momentarily before drawing back and looking into his glassy eyes.

“Shouldn’t be.” He murmured, avoiding her gaze. “We lost.”

“And yet you scored more goals than anyone else the entire game.” She pointed out, sincerity lacing her voice. “It’s just because the snitch is worth a stupid amount of points, honestly the game has a lot of flaws.” James smiled weakly, they often had these debates about Quidditch and it always ended in some silly way.

“I did hit Malfoy in the head with a Quaffle.” He admitted, and (y/n) could see the weight falling off his shoulders.

“The highlight of all our years.” She laughed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a little box. “I got you something.” She handed it to him, and he pushed it back to her, head shaking, doubt returned.

“No I didn’t do anything to deserve it. Keep it.”

“We already had this argument and I’m not taking no for an answer.” She shoved the box into his hands and folded her arms across her chest, waiting for him to open it.

Reluctantly, he pulled the lid off the box to reveal a snitch, the snitch he normally kept on his person at all times, now shining with a slight iridescence. James looked up at her, thankful but a little confused at the present.

“I’ve actually been saving it for when you lose a game. Which has been hard because that’s hardly ever.” She broke off to give him a playful glare along with her words, quickly broken by her soft smile. “I know you play with the snitch when you have a lot on your mind, and when you start to doubt yourself. I wanted to remind you that you’re incredible and you should believe that yourself. So, when you see the snitch and you see it sparkle, you’ll think of me, and you’ll remember how great you are.” He was speechless, and in the silent air, she did what the two of them did best, and started to nervously babble. “Well, that’s assuming you think of me when you see sparkles, and quite frankly after all this time I’d be slightly offended if you didn’t-oof” her rambling stopped when James tackled her into a hug, knocking them both back onto the bed.

“Thank you.” Was all he said, but she could hear the emotion behind each word, everything he was trying to communicate. All she did was hold him tighter.

It was then that Sirius and Remus walked into the dorm, carrying all of James’ equipment from the game, causing James and (y/n) to jump away from each other. Blushes arose on both their faces, not that the other would have noticed, each too busy looking at opposite walls of the dorm. Sirius and Remus exchanged a knowing look, but decided to let it slide, knowing there was an inevitability to it anyway.

…

Once again, (y/n) was boarding the Hogwarts express for another year of school. She knew this year would be a stressful one, with their OWL exams coming up, but she also knew that as long as she had her boys by her side, she would be absolutely fine.

Speaking of her friends, she was currently walking along the train trying to find them. She knew that Lily and Remus were prefects now so they’d be at the front of the train, but she was struggling to find anyone else. Eventually, she found James, sitting in a carriage by himself, absentmindedly watching the view. She chuckled to herself at the situation, the reverse of their meeting all those years ago.

She slid the door open, catching his attention and his ever-so-addictive smile. “Got room for an old pal?” She asked, sitting next to him when he patted the seat, his hand enveloping hers as soon as she had, a silent communication. I missed you.

“I was starting to think you’d gotten cool and forgotten about me.” He joked, nudging her playfully.

“Piss off Potter, I was always cooler than you.” She teased back, glad to see that nothing had changed despite their time apart. It never did, they were always James and (y/n), inseparable no matter how hard anyone tried. “Where is everyone?”

“Lils and Moony are doing prefect duties, and Sirius enlisted Peter’s help to try and sneak into their carriage and get the insider information.” He rolled his eyes light-heartedly, forming air quotes around Sirius’ words as (y/n) laughed, eyes closing in amusement. “What’s that on your eyes?” James suddenly asked, stopping her laughter short as she tried to figure out what he meant.

“Oh!” She remembered. “I went to see Lils in the holidays and she was showing me this glitter eyeliner that muggles wear! Why, do you not like it?” She suddenly felt self-conscious, wondering if it really was too much despite Lily’s reassurances. It was a subtle white, but still, it was glitter on her face.

“The opposite!” James was quick to answer, rushing so much to not hurt her feelings that he wasn’t thinking about what he was saying. “I think you look really beautiful (y/n/n), with or without the makeup. Besides, the glitter brings out your eyes.”

At this point, they were both blushing furiously, and James was still holding her hand, neither of them willing to let go. (y/n) couldn’t help but smile to herself, and remembered to thank Lily for the recommendation the second they were in the dorm together that evening.

…

James climbed the last step into the astronomy tower, seeing (y/n) leaning against the railing already, gazing into the night sky, a blanket and an array of snacks out on the floor behind her.

It was a ritual they’d started who knows when, a chance to wind down and escape the chaos of everyday life, to enjoy each other’s company and to feast away on whatever snacks they had managed to stow away for these evenings. Tonight’s selection looked to consist mostly of cauldron cakes and chocolate frogs, with the occasional sugar quill hidden amongst the rest. “Heavy on the sugar tonight, I see.” He broke the silence teasingly, settling himself so that he was sat at (y/n)’s feet, still able to see the clear night sky above them.

“If I don’t consume my own bodyweight in sugar I think I’ll pass out I’m that exhausted.” She commented back, sinking down next to him. Automatically, his arm wound around her shoulder, pulling her into his side and resting his chin on top of her head. There weren’t words to describe the feeling of pure content as she melted into him, completely at ease.

She reached out and grabbed a chocolate frog, unwrapping it and handing the card to James with a sigh upon seeing it was one already in her collection. She bit into the chocolate, her gaze on the night sky as his was unable to break away from her, the way she settled so peacefully against him.

“The stars sparkle too, you know.” She broke the silence, voice quiet but still holding its signature melodic tone. James finally broke away from looking at her, joining her eyeline and looking at the constellations above them. Even though he wasn’t taking astronomy as a NEWT, spending so much time in the tower with (y/n) as she mapped the sky meant he knew precisely what he was looking at, and traced the constellations with his eyes.

“You know, six years of friendship and I don’t think I ever asked you why you like shiny things so much. I always just accepted it as a part of who you are.” A smile graced her face as she unconsciously twiddled her fingers.

“Don’t laugh.” She warned, and he solemnly shook his head. “I think there’s something so entrancing, so beautiful about them. I think it serves as a reminder that even the most seemingly dull thing,” she picked up another chocolate frog box at this point, waving her wand to create a light sparkle over it, “is wonderfully brilliant if you just remember to look at it in the right way. It’s a lesson we should all carry with us, and I try to remember it whenever I can. Everything is beautiful if you give it a chance.” The sparkles on the box faded in the moonlight, as (y/n) finally looked up at James, only to find him already staring back at her.

Body thinking quicker than brain, seeing her (y/e/c) eyes glimmering up at him, James leant down and pressed his lips to hers. She stifled a gasp, quickly moving her lips back against his as her hand wound gently around the back of his neck. He poured all of his admiration into the kiss, everything he had been feeling for her since he didn’t even know when, feeling his heart soar to be here with her in that moment.

Eventually, they broke away for air, and a breathy laugh fell from (y/n)’s lips, blush rising on her cheeks as she turned her face away. James reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers and gently rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ve been drawn to you since the day I saw you in that train carriage. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, your soul. I didn’t even realise the outside matched until we came back from that summer you spent with Lily. But god, every day since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I like you, (y/n/n). I really like you.”

Around them, a shimmering cloud exploded simultaneous to a wide grin spreading across (y/n)’s face. It was their own galaxy, just like all that time ago in the charms lesson, but she was still in the centre, still giddy with excitement. “I like you too, Jamie.” Her smile turned a little sheepish. “And sorry, I think my emotions got a little out of control.” The star-like sparkles slowly dissipated around them until there was nothing left, and this time it was (y/n) who leaned up to James, connecting their lips one more time.

“You taste like chocolate.”

“I’m sure that must be awful for you, Potter”. Nothing had changed, and yet nothing would be the same either.

…

James was sat on the floor of his dorm, textbooks open in front of him, although this late in the day he was struggling to pay any attention to them. What he was focused on instead was his girlfriend, tucked into the alcove of the windowsill, absentmindedly writing away on a piece of parchment.

Her (y/h/c) hair was in plaits down her back, and in the candlelight the silver threads that James had helped her braid in this morning were casting light across the room that shifted with every little shake of her head or shrug of her shoulders.

“You’re staring again, Jamie.” She chastised, although the humour was clear in her voice. He pushed himself up from the floor with an exaggerated groan, making his way over to her and pulling her gently into his chest, pressing a soft kiss into her hair.

“Can’t help it love, you’re an actual angel.” He didn’t see it but he knew she’d be rolling her eyes as she buried her face in his chest to hide the blush that was forming on her cheeks.

“Stop being so cheesy.”

“As if you don’t love it.” She pressed a kiss into his chest, resting her head against him as she went back to her writing. He tried not to pry, but he couldn’t help but catch notice of his name and his interest piqued. “Who are you writing to?”

“Euphemia.” She replied nonchalantly, not pausing her actions as he took a step away, face scrunched in confusion.

“My mother?” she paused at this, looking up at him with false exasperation.

“Do you know many other Euphemias?” She deadpanned. He shrugged, admitting her fair point, moving back to her side where she immediately snuggled back into his warmth.

“How long have you been writing to my mum?” She paused for a second, contemplating.

“Since the start of term I think. She sent an owl, I responded, we haven’t really stopped talking since. Oh, I’m coming over for Christmas by the way, she invited me. Said it wouldn’t be Christmas without the whole family there” (y/n) looked up at him, flashing a mischievous grin, expecting him to whine childishly like he normally would, complaining that he was supposed to ask her. Instead, looking more solemn than she’d seen him in a long time, he crushed her against him, holding her so tightly before he leant down and connected their lips. The kiss was bruising, but it was packed with adoration, and it left (y/n) slightly breathless. He broke away, leaning his forehead against hers as she tried to catch her breath back. “What was that for?”

“I love you. So much. You’re absolutely perfect, and I swear, I can’t wait until the day I can put a ring on that finger and make it official, make you a Potter for real. I promise, it’s going to be the most sparkling, dazzling gem you’ve ever seen. It’ll shine just as brightly as you, and it’ll always remind you that you’re beautiful, in every way, and just how much I love you.” Her hand had come to rest on his cheek, smiling throughout his little speech, parchment cast aside and forgotten about at this point.

“Don’t be silly, James.” She laughed, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I love shiny things, yes, but I don’t need one to be reminded of how amazing you are, or how much I love you. Hell, you could ask me to marry you with a paper ring and I’d still say yes in a heartbeat. I’m saying yes to you, to a life. You don’t need to win me over with some ridiculously expensive piece of jewellery.” He nodded slightly, pecking her lips before moving back to where he had been sat on the floor.

(y/n) picked her parchment back up, continuing on to the letter she had been writing to Euphemia Potter, unable to help themselves from planning the Christmas festivities despite it being early November.

Deep in concentration, she startled slightly as she noticed movement coming from the corner of her eye. She looked to the side to see her boyfriend once again, although this time he was knelt before her, holding up a piece of parchment that he had hastily fashioned into a ring, coupled with a sheepish smile.

Laughing merrily, she hopped down from the windowsill, pulling him up by his jumper and kissing him passionately as she slid the piece of paper onto her finger, looking forward to the day when they were older, when they could promise this for real, knowing that they had the rest of their lives ahead of them to love each other unconditionally.

When James first stepped on that Hogwarts train, he was hoping to find a friend he could share every moment with for the next seven years. He had found that in her, a best friend, now a lover, for seven years but for so much longer. The girl with the sparkling bow turned out to be his soulmate, and he sent a prayer of thanks to the stars every day.

#harry potter #harry potter fic #james potter #james #potter #james potter fic #james potter fanfic #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #prongs #prongs x reader #marauders #marauders era #marauders x reader #james potter x you

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waiting4inspiration · 4 years

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Darkness before Dawn XIII: Call her Name

Summary: When you’re stuck in a death-like sleep, Malla states the one thing that can wake you and it’s something that your father does not like. Geralt is reminded of his job, and of his place.

Warnings: angst, horror elements, magical elements, strong language, small fluff, mentions of torture, mentions of curses, things are getting interesting...

Word Count: 2,202

Darkness before Dawn Masterlist II The Witcher Masterlist

The night seemed peaceful to Geralt and you seemed to have gotten some sleep. Ida changed the protective circle around the bed to prevent any other spirits from pulling out like they had done previously. To the Witcher, it seemed to be the first peaceful night since this curse was laid on you.

But for you, it was a completely different story. Because Geralt can’t protect you in your dreams and Kurst knows that. There’s nowhere to hide from him in the tomb you always find yourself trapped in.

When the sun rose, Geralt was sure to move out from behind you in the bed, to make sure that no one walks in and sees something they shouldn’t be seeing. He didn’t want to disturb you, so he left you sleeping.

You seem peaceful. The most peaceful he’s seen you in days. He’d be a fool to wake you now.

The door opens, making his head turn away from you and he stands when Charlotte walks into the room. She gives a small smile, something Geralt hasn’t seen since he’s been here. “She still sleeping?” Charlotte questions in a whisper as she gently closes the door behind her.

Geralt hums, glances down at you as he steps away from the bed as Charlotte walks forward. “She needs all the rest she can get,” he mentions, earning an agreeing nod for the princess that sits on the bed beside you.

Charlotte remembers how tired you seemed to be yesterday when she brought you that tart to cheer you up. She’s only glad that you seem to have had a peaceful night for once. Maybe it’s the magic Ida’s teaching you that’s helping keep those spirits away from you, she thinks.

Reaching up to touch your arm, she gasps and flinches away at the feeling of your skin. Her action makes Geralt’s head snap up to her and he immediately goes on guard. “Her skin is like ice,” Charlotte says, standing to move to the side as Geralt rushes forward to take her place.

He touches the side of your face, strokes your cheek and waits for your eyes to open. But they don’t. He turns his head over his shoulder to look back at Charlotte, who stands a few feet away from him, staring at you with wide eyes and a scared look on her face. She didn’t seem to care this much about you when he first started this job he was hired to do. It seems that she’s really changed.

“Get Ida. Now,” he orders, making her nod and quickly turns around to race out of the room. He looks back at you, moves his hands to your shoulders to gently shake you as an attempt to wake you, but your eyes remain shut. “If you can hear me, please, just open your eyes,” he whispers, taking your face in his hands and stroking your cheeks.

You hear Geralt. His voice gives you some strength to push Kurst off you and take a step back. He glares coldly at you as you pant, gripping the sarcophagus behind you. “Do not touch me,” you weakly order, making him chuckle and confidently lift his head as he steps closer to you.

“What are you doing to do, little princess? Are you going to be a queen now and order me around?” he asks, taunting you just as he had been this entire night. You swallow hard, take a step back only to end up walking around the coffin. “Are you going to show me a little magic trick?”

Running your tongue over your lips as you carry on walking backward. “I am not afraid of you,” you mention, putting the coffin between you and him.

He laughs darkly, stops walking and leans over the coffin with his hands on the stone. “Come on then, princess. Show me what you’ve got,” he growls, his fingers turning to those claws that you hate so much, egging you on.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you glance down to your hands and try to muster as much strength as you can for the spell Ida taught you as a means to defend yourself, not only from spirits but from anyone with ill-content towards you.

Kurst thinks you can’t do anything, that you don’t have the strength to do that. “That’s what I thought. You are weak because of your fear,” he sneers.

Seeing the light around slowly fading, his shadow growing bigger, you know he intends to attack again. And that’s when you take the chance to use the spell. Whispering the Elder incantation and holding your hand out, you knock him away from you and he hits the stone wall behind him.

Your spell comes out stronger than you thought, and you end up knocking the top of the coffin off, exposing the corpse inside. Panting as you stumble backward, you glance down to the open coffin and take in a deep breath when you see the corpse.

It wears the same clothes Kurst wears now, the same clothes he has been wearing the entire time. With the top off of the coffin, Kurst slowly stands from the ground and glares coldly at you. “You bitch,” he sneers, his eyes going dark and his face changes to the demonic look that haunts you.

You hear Geralt’s voice again, calling to you with a plea to wake up. And when you blink, you think of him and of being back with him.

Geralt doesn’t expect such a great group to burst into your room. Ida, Dominic, Charlotte, and Jaskier walk into your room, dread on their faces that your curse - the Curse of Death - has finally run its course.

Ida moves closer when Geralt steps away from you, takes his place beside you and reaches up to touch your cheek. Dominic walks closer to you, staring in fear at your pale features for a moment before looking to Ida who shakes her head.

“She is not dead. There is still life in her,” she whispers, making everyone breathe a small sigh of relief, All except Geralt because you’re still not awake. It cannot be a good sign. “Something is keeping her from waking and the longer she remains asleep…”

“The more chance Kurst has to drain her,” Malla says, her sudden appearance makes everyone turn to face her.

This is the first time Charlotte sees the ghost, and seeing the deadly bruise around her neck makes her gasp lightly and her eyes grow wide in shock. Malla walks closer, ignoring the surprised gasp from the princess and keeps her gaze on you.

“How do we wake her?” Dominic asks, making the ghost look at him before she looks to Geralt.

“Someone close to her must call her name. Someone who cares deeply for her, and who she cares deeply for,” Malla speaks, her words make Geralt turn his gaze back to you.

Ida looks up at Geralt too, knowing the meaning behind the ghost’s words. Dominic steps forward, but Ida stops him when she holds up her hand. “Geralt,” she whispers, nodding to him to encourage him to walk closer.

Dominic turns to look at the Witcher coldly, narrows his eyes when he steps closer as if to challenge him to dare come near you. But Ida pushes her brother back to let Geralt sit down beside you again. “Let him do this, Dominic,” Ida whisper, keeping a hand on his chest to stop him from doing something stupid.

Everyone watches as Geralt reaches up to cup your cheek, Dominic shifting in distaste at the action, and Jaskier smirking to himself. “(Y/n),” Geralt whispers, moving his hand down your shoulder to take your hand in his.

You take in a deep breath, making your shoulder draw up to your shoulders as your eyes flutter open and you breathe out a long sigh. Blinking for your eyes to adjust to the light around you, your gaze lands on Geralt and a weak smile grows on your face.

“Geralt,” you whisper, your grip on his hand tightening.

He strokes his thumb over the back of your hand, allows himself to be happy to see that you’re still alive and he smiles down at you. What he wouldn't give to kiss you, but he knows that would be unwise to do that in front of your father. He’s already treading on thin ice holding your hand like a lover.

You can barely keep your eyes open, don’t even bother trying to push yourself to sit up because you know that you would fail. You can feel that strength evades you today. You doubt very much you will be leaving bed today.

“Witcher,” Dominic roughly calls him, breaking the moment between you and him and making him pull his hand out of yours. “May I speak with you? In private?” It’s not really a question, but an order.

Before you can even try to protest, Geralt stands and marches towards the door, followed shortly by your father and Ida, who you know will dampen Dominic’s anger.

Turning your gaze to Jaskier as he sits on the edge of the bed and Charlotte beside you, you give him a gentle smile. “Jaskier, perhaps one of your stories will make her feel a bit better,” Charlotte mentions, making the bard smile and nod his head as he shifts to make himself comfortable.

Dominic runs his hand over his face, waits for the sound of your door closing before turning around to look at Geralt. “You grow far too close to my daughter, Witcher. You forget you have a job,” the king snaps, turning around to look at Geralt, ignoring Ida when she steps closer.

“I thought my job was to protect her-”

“It is not your first priority!” Dominic cuts him off, takes a step closer to him and narrows his eyes at the Witcher. “You are to find the witch and end this curse. And you will stop any provocation you have with my daughter,” he sternly says.

Ida steps forward and pushes her brother backward away from the Witcher. “I am sure Geralt is capable of completing his duties without you pestering him,” she mentions, glancing over her shoulder to Geralt who nods his head stiffly and glances away. “And it is not for you to decide who it is (Y/n) chooses to spend her time with,” she whispers to Dominic, making him roll his eyes.

“If it makes this conflict end,” Malla speaks, making the three people turn to find her standing a few feet away. By now, they have gotten used to her just showing up when she pleases. “I can lead the Witcher to the witch to try and end this curse,” she mentions, looking between the white-haired Witcher and the King.

Dominic nods his head and looks at Geralt again. “You will go. Kill the witch if you must. Anything that ends this curse and sends you out of my kingdom,” he sneers before walking away.

Shifting on his feet, Geralt takes in a deep breath as his jaw tenses. Ida steps forward and rests a hand on his shoulder. “I can create a portal for you. So you don’t spend too much time away from her,” she says with a smile on her face.

But he doesn’t smile back. “I doubt Dominic will allow me to go near her again. Nevermind be alone with her,” he grumbles, turning to look at your door after it closes to stare at it.

Ida shrugs her shoulders and takes a step closer to him. “He might not, but I will,” she mentions, making him look back at her in slight confusion. “She’s grown very fond of you. It would be a mistake to try and keep you two apart.”

He gives a small smile and nods his head in thanks to her. She clasps her hands together and looks to Malla. “So, where is it you need to go?”

Although Geralt doesn’t like traveling through portals, he will take Ida up on her offer because the quicker he can get to the witch, the quicker he can end this curse. The quicker he can save your life.

Thinking about how all he wants is for you to be safe, he remembers the object he asked Jaskier to find for him. He still has it and hasn’t found time to give it to yet. If he comes back and Dominic refuses him to see you, the least he can do is give this to you so you can protect yourself without magic.

He reaches for the knife at his side, looks down at it to stare at the intricate floral pattern on the handle - something that looks like the flowers in your paintings. He remembers Jaskier complaining how hard it was to find. “Will you give this to her?” he whispers, looking up at Ida as he holds the knife out to her. “In case she needs it,” he adds, making Ida smile as she takes the silver knife from him and nods her head.

Even when he’s going away, he’s still protecting you, Ida thinks to herself.

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gavillain · 3 years

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witch hazel, aurora, neverland mermaids, and magic mirror

Witch Hazel:

First impression - I always thought she was a lot fun and one of my favorite parts of Mickey's House of Villains. Her whole segment is really fun classic Disney Halloween vibes, and I was always here for it.

Impression now - I feel the same way today, and I'm nostalgic for her. I wish Disney had used her more, tbh. She was such a wacky and entertaining character who would have made a great reoccurring character in the Mickey Mouseverse.

Favorite moment - When she's standing over her cauldron calling out ingredients for Huey, Dewey, and Louie to add to the pot and quoting Macbeth. There's just something so fun to me about a witch at her cauldron.

Idea for a story - Witch Hazel comes back next Halloween to make sure Donald isn't being stingy. Donald, wanting to avoid any repeat incidents, tricks her into going after Uncle Scrooge instead. Wacky hijinks with Witch Hazel and Uncle Scrooge ensue as sort of a marrying ground of the Trick or Treat Cartoon and the Mickey's Christmas Carol cartoon. Of course it ends with Donald getting some spooky comeuppance eventually after she gets done with Scrooge.

Unpopular opinion - I don't think there are any truly unpopular opinions to be had. But one opinion I have that I haven't seen anyone else say is that I don't like it when witches have buckles on their hats. It looks too "pilgrim-y" for my tastes, and I think her design would be better without it.

Favorite relationship - Her friendship with Huey, Dewey, and Louie is adorable, and I love how mischievous they all are together.

Favorite headcanon - She herself isn't evil or a villain, but she likes to hang out with villains for fun because they get her sense of mischief better. She and Mad Madam Mim are friends.

Aurora:

First impression - I always liked her and thought she was a beautiful princess, and her movie was always my favorite. She wasn't ever a favorite of mine, but I always liked her.

Impression now - You've actually opened my eyes to how special and great of a character she is. I always knew she was lovely, but you've made her come alive to me like never before! I wasn't ever above a little sneering at her during the era when Disney Princess discourse was a thing, but now I would never even think of looking down on this beautiful character :)

Favorite moment - I love that first scene in the cottage where Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather have to try to get her out of the house so that they can plan her birthday surprise. I love the sly looks that show that she knows that they're planning something, but she still indulges them anyway. It's sweet.

Idea for a story - I love the story idea of Merlin popping in at the good fairies' request to tutor Aurora when she was younger. Him teaching her and helping her to grow into the princess she becomes is just perfect.

Unpopular opinion - She's always in the top tier of Disney princesses. She tends to get some of the most side eye from critics, and I just don't think any of that is worth bunk. She's amazing and everything a Disney Princess should be.

Favorite relationship - Her and Phillip have a beautiful fairytale romance that I absolutely melt for every time. I also love her familial relationship with the Three Good Fairies too!

Favorite headcanon - I'm coming around to being quite fond of the idea that because Maleficent's curse said that she will be "beloved by all who know her," Maleficent actually does have feelings of love towards Aurora, albeit her twisted version of love. I think if they spent any time together after the film, Maleficent couldn't help but develop a fondness for the princess per her own incantation.

Neverland Mermaids:

First impression - I thought they were pretty and well animated, but I never really have give them a whole lot of though, tbh.

Impression now - They're one of the fun fantasy elements that make Neverland feel like such a vibrant and wonderful place.

Favorite moment - The one thing I always remember about them is the one mermaid saying "we were only trying to drown her" so innocently XD

Idea for a story - I feel like there has to be a whole beautiful underwater world in Neverland, and I'd love to see Peter Pan getting some magic that would let him breathe underwater so that they could bring him to their magical world and have an adventure down there to see what other magical creatures live in Neverland's waters.

Unpopular opinion - I don't really have much of an opinion on them tbh.

Favorite relationship - Again, not really anything relationship wise that I can think of.

Favorite headcanon - See my above idea of a beautiful underwater world that they live in.

The Spirit of the Magic Mirror:

First impression - I thought he was so cool and mysterious and such a fun part of the movie and its whole aesthetic. He was one of my favorite characters as a kid, actually.

Impression now - One of my favorite Disney Villain Henchmen. He's got such a spooky and ethereal vibe to him that he tickles my fancy. I also have loved him in the various supplemental Disney materials like the DVD menus and theme park attractions. He's just one of those characters who makes my imagination soar.

Favorite moment - When Grimhilde first summons him from the farthest space and he appears from within flames. There's something so mystical and cool about that whole effect :D

Idea for a story - I like the idea of one day he frees himself from the mirror and regains corporeal form, seeking to get revenge on Grimhilde for imprisoning him. And she must contend with facing him, and possibly having to turn to her enemies for help.

Unpopular opinion - I'm just gonna use this for all the Disney henchmen: he's better and more interesting than Kronk. Would much rather watch him than Kronk's antics any day.

Favorite relationship - I love the idea of him having a romance with Madame Leota from the Haunted Mansion. Two disembodied spirit heads manifesting in enchanted glass objects who can see all. They're practically made for each other!

Favorite headcanon - He is the spirit of Grimhilde's father sealed away inside of a mirror by her after she overcame his abusive hold over her. He's enchanted to obey her every whim now, letting her finally have the power in their relationship.

#Witch Hazel #Princess Aurora #Mermaid Lagoon #Magic Mirror #Disney

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omgrachwrites · 4 years

Text

Tell a Tale of You and Me - Chapter Five

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You knew that making a bet with Sirius Black was like making a deal with the devil but you just couldn’t help yourself. You had never been a heavenly woman.

Warnings: fluff, soft angst, denial of feelings, pining

Words: 2189

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this part! Also, I’ve literally just realised that I’ve passed 300 followers so thank you guys so so much! Let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all xxx

Chapter Five

You rolled your eyes at Lily with a lazy smirk as the both of you waited for the boys to stop stuffing their faces in The Great Hall. Right about now they would most likely be stuffing their pockets full of snacks to have in Transfiguration that afternoon, they’d probably get detention for eating their snacks. Again. Finally, the boys came traipsing out of The Great Hall as if they had all the time in the world. Sirius was scoffing a vanilla cupcake.

“Bloody finally guys,” you giggled as you and your friends walked down the crowded corridors, “Merlin, how many snacks have you got in there?” you asked, gesturing at their bulging robes.

“Want one Y/N?” Sirius asked innocently around a mouthful of cake, you smirked at him before gathering up some vanilla buttercream on your finger before sucking it off, keeping your eyes on Sirius the whole time. He watched, his cheeks deepening to a bright red flush and he made a funny strangled noise in the back of his throat.

Giggling, you punched him in the arm and hung back, fully intending on speaking to Lily. However, before you could get a word out you found yourself face to face with a group of Slytherin girls who were all staring at you.

“Good morning ladies,” Sirius smirked as he walked past them while Remus looked back with a faint blush on his scarred face.

“Run along, Evans, we need to talk to Y/L/N alone,” the tallest one sneered.

Lily looked at you, chewing her lip, she had a worried expression on her face, “I’ll be fine Lil, really can you just tell McGonagall that I’m hung up?” you asked with a brave smile, though you really did feel nervous. Lily nodded before reluctantly walking down the corridor.

You turned back to the Slytherins, your hand gripping the wand in your pocket in case you needed it. You noticed that all of the girls were very pretty. Though, one girl was at the back of the group, she looked very bored to be here.

“You think you’re pretty smart don’t you Y/L/N?” the tallest one snarled again, she was presumably the leader, “you’ve ruined our last year at Hogwarts.”

“Excuse me?” you laughed as you tightened your grip on your wand, “I honestly have got no idea what you’re going on about.”

“This stupid bet that you’ve got going on with Sirius is what we’re on about,” another girl piped up, her brown eyes flashing menacingly, “you want him all to yourself don’t you?”

You seriously couldn’t believe that you were having this conversation right now, if you weren’t so confused it would actually be really amusing, “oh no, you see,” you giggled, “you’ve got the wrong end of the stick entirely. This whole bet thing is just a bit of fun,” and it was but you knew that Sirius was stubborn and he couldn’t resist a challenge.

“Still, I tried to come onto him the other day and he rejected me, he’s never done that before,” the leader said with a note of hurt in her voice, “there’s only one reason why he would do that and it’s not because of some stupid bet. He’s in love with you, haven’t you seen the way he looks at you when he thinks that no one else sees?”

That had to be the funniest thing that you’d heard all year. Surely you would know if one of your best friends was in love with you, wouldn’t you? You sighed as you rolled your eyes, you shouldn’t have had to explain yourself but you did anyway.

“Sirius is not in love with me, I don’t even know if he can love anybody, we’re just friends. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class,” you shook your head, feeling completely bewildered at the conversation.

“You’d better watch your back Y/L/N, especially at the Quidditch match tomorrow,” one of them called after you.

Thankfully, you arrived at Transfiguration only a couple of minutes late, McGonagall looked at you sternly, her thin lips were pursed but she didn’t say anything. Sirius smirked at you as you sat down next to Lily. McGonagall announced that they were going to be starting human transfiguration, beginning with changing their hair colour. The class murmured with great interest as McGonagall taught them the incantation and the correct wand movement.

Your spirits were not dampened despite the fact that you – and the rest of the class – were only able to change the length of your hair, rather than the colour. You giggled as Lily’s hair was now a pixie cut, “hey, that really suits you.”

“Thanks Rapunzel,” she grinned at you. Your hair now reached the floor, you didn’t know what to do with so much hair but you kind of liked it.

Just as you were about to get to work on changing your hair back to its original state, you heard a couple of girlish giggles a few desks over from you. You gazed over to the other side of the classroom to see what all the commotion was about and your breath got stuck in your throat. Sirius was cockily smirking at his reflection in the hand mirror that he was holding and he was running his fingers through his hair. It was quite a lot shorter and it was more tousled than it usually was.

The surrounding gaggle of girls were all gazing at him adoringly, causing you to roll your eyes, he never missed a chance to show off. Almost as if he could feel your eyes on him, he turned to face you and winked, it was stupidly unfair how he looked even more handsome with the short fluffy hair he was currently sporting.

“Like what you see Y/N? Are you finally ready to admit that you fancy me?” he smirked, resting his hand on his chin as he stared at you.

“Mr Black,” McGonagall began in a warning voice.

You ignored McGonagall, scoffing at Sirius’ words, “pur-lease, me have a crush on you? No way.”

At your words, the group of girls gasped, Remus and Peter snorted while James just looked uncomfortable. Sirius laughed it off and if you hadn’t turned away you would have seen the pained look that flashed across his face. McGonagall sighed as she looked at you both, unbeknownst to you and Sirius; she had an ongoing bet with Slughorn on when you would finally get together. They’d first made the bet in your 5th year.

Later on that evening, you and Lily were sitting in front of the roaring common room fire as you told her about the Slytherin girl’s ambushing you.

“So, let me get this straight, they had a problem with you because they think that Sirius has a thing for you?” she recited and you nodded.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the gist of it.”

Lily’s emerald eyes scanned your face, “well, maybe they have a point Y/N,” she held up her hands in mock defence as you glared at her, you couldn’t believe that she was taking their side, “just hear me out, okay? He’s been pouting all afternoon because of what you said in Transfiguration,” her voice lowered as the boys came to join you; she smiled as James kissed her.

Sirius sat in the armchair opposite you, it was true enough that he’d been in a mood all afternoon but it wasn’t your fault, not when he could have any girl he wanted.

“Lighten up Sirius, are you seriously in a mood because I told you that I don’t have a crush on you?” you wanted to make light of the situation, it would certainly make you feel better, “I thought your ego needed a bit of deflating,” you giggled.

“This has got nothing to do with my ego,” he muttered, staring into the fire, “but don’t worry, I’m just being silly,” he shot you a smile that didn’t quite reach those pretty eyes.

You sighed as guilt swirled around in your stomach.

-------------------------------------

The following day, the morning of the first Quidditch game, Sirius was walking down to breakfast on his own, he had woken up late to find that his friends had gone down to breakfast without him. He didn’t realise that he had fake friends. Sirius was so hungry; he was craving something with chocolate or an extremely sugary cereal.

On the way down to breakfast, he ran into something twice as sweet, Y/N. He felt a funny fluttering feeling in his stomach as she smiled at him prettily, though he blamed it on the fact that he was so hungry.

“Hi Y/N,” he grinned and noticed that she was carrying a covered tray, “how are you feeling?”

She grimaced, it didn’t look like she was feeling too good, “nervous, I’ve been up for hours,” she laughed weakly as she chewed on her lip, “these are for you by the way,” she blushed as she uncovered the tray to reveal the most delicious looking chocolate brownies that Sirius had ever seen, “I made them this morning to say thank you for helping me get onto the team.”

Sirius chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair as he took the tray from her, “you really didn’t need to do that but thank you so much,” he blushed, it was an incredibly sweet gesture, “and hey, you were an absolute pleasure to teach,” he smirked. She rolled her eyes but still leaned up to plant a kiss on his warm red cheek anyway.

At breakfast, Sirius helped Lily and Remus finish off the banner that they had created for the match; Remus had drawn a picture of a lion devouring a snake. Remus also stole Sirius’ brownies, pretending not to notice the way that Sirius was glaring at him.

“I’m not hungry James, please I know you mean well but can you stop it? It feels like I’m going to be sick,” Y/N mumbled with her head in her hands. James sighed sympathetically as he rubbed her back. Even though Sirius knew that Y/N couldn’t see him, he smiled at her. No matter what the score came out as, he knew that she would be great.

It seemed like all too soon for before they were walking down to the pitch, Y/N had a sickly tinge to her skin and she wasn’t talking to anybody. Sirius smiled at her before going to sit in the stands with the others, “don’t worry, Y/N. You’re gonna be so great, I know it,” she smiled weakly at him, giving him a quick hug before she followed James into the changing rooms.

“Oh, could you get any more obvious? It’s revolting,” Regulus smirked as he stalked past his older brother. Sirius scoffed, he didn’t know what Regulus was talking about because it was Regulus who had a schoolboy crush on Y/N. He pulled a tongue at the back of Regulus’ head before running to catch up with Remus, Lily and Peter.

The atmosphere was electric as the long awaited Quidditch players finally flew onto the pitch, there were far more cheers than boos. Everybody, well almost everybody wanted to see Gryffindor win the first match of the season, a win would give Sirius and his friends another reason to celebrate at the Halloween feast and Hogsmeade the following day.

Sirius couldn’t see Y/N properly but he could tell that she was smiling; he imagined that her eyes were alight with excitement. He knew that she was completely comfortable now she was up in the air. The game was very exciting, even to begin with, in the first few minutes James scored an amazing goal.

Lily was so happy as she screamed, “that’s my boyfriend!” Sirius just knew that she would be rewarding James for that later on.

Halfway through the game, the crowd gasped in shock as a Slytherin beater aimed a bludger at a Gryffindor chaser, causing him to drop the Quaffle. The Gryffindor’s nose exploded but he soldiered on, refusing to let James call time out. Y/N was certainly pulling out the impressive moves as she looped and swerved, in search of the snitch. Sirius hated to think it but Y/N had her work cut out for her, Regulus was also an excellent seeker.

The young man gasped his heart in his mouth as Regulus and Y/N very nearly collided in the air, he shouted out his admiration, feeling extremely proud when Y/N expertly swerved to avoid Regulus. It was a very close match, Slytherin was leading by fifty points, Sirius was silently praying for Y/N to catch the snitch soon.

After ten more extremely tense minutes, Y/N’s nimble fingers closed around the tiny struggling ball. Sirius whooped and cheered along with Remus and Peter when he realised that Gryffindor had won while Lily sobbed on his shoulder. He looked up and grinned when he saw James and Y/N celebrating with their team, Y/N looked so young and beautiful as she hugged James. Sirius knew that she would always stay that way, for as long as she lived.

-------------------------------------

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merakiui · 4 years

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There's an AFTERL!FE blog now! I'm so happy. All of your posts are so good and I love how you write. Would it be possible to get another story about Theo and Nine's rivalry? The way you write them is just so fun and enjoyable to read.

(Thank you so much! I’m very happy that you like my posts. (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ* You may definitely have another story of their rivalry! I had a blast writing it. This can be considered a sequel to Cake, but it can be read as a standalone as well.)

Nerium Oleander (Theo and Nine)

Stalkers are poison ivy. Their victims are innocent trees, who breathe life and fortune into the one who watches them like a hawk. Twining around their limbs like rope and heavy iron and keeping them pinned for all their worth—it’s a display of parasitic infatuation. Love, like any other emotion felt in full, is awfully draining. Day and night, allowing that person to consume your thoughts. Thinking and wondering if they appreciate you just as much as you value them. Wishing that they would notice everything you’ve done for them on the sidelines. Loathing anyone who threatens that nonexistent relationship.

As fate would have it, there are unlucky instances in which love is one-sided.

Theo simply can’t bear the thought of that, so he becomes oleander—a flower blooming in beautiful death. One hint of its aroma can send you to an early grave. Every inch of the inviting flower is bathed in poison, and yet it’s still so gorgeous. Why is it that the ugliest personalities have the prettiest shells? It’s frustrating to know that he has competition. In a setting with nineteen other Reapers, Theo’s got a lot on his plate. Like ivy and oleander, it’s the exterior that fools. A sharp, monstrous idea can be wonderful as long as it’s hidden within layers of honeyed promises. Like a cake that’s stacked with plenty of delicious flavors.

He doesn’t want to waste his time on endeavors that won’t bear any fruit, but befriending every Reaper will have its benefits. He’s already made a list of those who pose the highest threat to his precious manager. Nine is at the very top, his name circled in black pen. As much as he dislikes the polite and oh-so-gracious Reaper, he has to pretend as if the two of them are friendly coworkers. As if he doesn’t wish for Nine to transfer to another Department or to cease existing. But immortality is funny like that. You’re either stuck with the best people in the world or the fiends of your worst nightmares. Theo wonders if this is his punishment. Spending an eternity with Nine is far more hellish than Quincy and his status as a devil.

Which is why he holds so much hatred for those who hurt his manager, specifically the ones who simply don’t know when to quit.

The blue-eyed oleander witnesses it in the early hours of the morning during a particularly unfavorable mission. A vengeful spirit had the gall to hurt his manager, and they had even more of a spine to talk to them as if they were a worthless weed. In his garden of noxious plants, Theo sees the disgusting hemlock attempting to snuff out the beauty that is his beloved rose. His expression switches in an instant, a light flickering behind those expansive eyes. There are so many emotions he feels in that moment, but fear is dominant as it grabs his heart and squeezes. The spirit could kill them. It’s about to kill them, and he’s flipping through his spell book with rapturous intent.

And then Nine is at their side, shielding them from the spirit’s attack. Before him, the specter vents in anger, spewing meaningless insults. Theo feels as though he’s just been kicked in the stomach. Why is it so hard to get to you? he thinks, gripping the leather book. His chest aches as he sees the manager cling to Nine. Why can’t I be the one who saves you for once? Why can’t you just rely on me? Nine is better equipped to deal with the situation as he listens, attempting to reason with the vengeful spirit. Its crocodile tears don’t faze Theo in the slightest. He should be the one crying because he was too late. One spell and his manager would’ve been rescued from the claws of such a beastly spirit. And yet Nine was faster with his reaction time.

Theo makes a mental note of the way Nine purifies the vengeful spirit once it’s calmed down. He’s always gentle when he talks to them, using his relaxing aura to coax them into tranquility. Theo would’ve preferred to crush it beneath his unmerciful heel, but the problem has been solved. There’s no use fretting over it now. Though it will definitely keep him awake tonight.

“Manager!” He jogs over to them, dropping down to inspect their wounds. “Take this to stop the bleeding. I’ll help you.” Unfastening his cape, he passes it to the manager, who holds it against the bloody laceration while he searches for a proper healing spell.

“Thank you, Theo,” (Name) says, wincing at the stinging sensation. “That spirit really put up a fight. Thanks for coming to my aid, Nine.”

“No need to thank me, Manager. I’m relieved you’ll be okay. Mr. Theo will have you healed in no time.”

Theo grits his teeth before facing Nine. He wants this unworthy hemlock out of his special garden. “Could you gather the others? Let them know that we’re finished over here.”

“Very well. Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“No.” It comes out way too stern, and Theo’s quick to correct himself. “No thank you. We’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t spare Nine another glance as he departs, focusing on the manager’s pained expression with sympathy. They’re in his arms now, grasping at him for salvation. The situation couldn’t be anymore perfect.

“That was crazy, wasn’t it?” they ask, making light of the previous events. “My heart is still racing!”

“I...was so worried, Manager.”

They let out a wheezing chuckle. “Thank goodness Nine was there. If it weren’t for him, I could’ve gotten killed. It’s scary to think about.”

“Yeah. Terrifying,” he echoes while casting the healing spell on them. Surely there’s a curse that brings misfortune. Theo wants to do everything he can to master every negative incantation there is. Just for future reference. There are so many possibilities when it comes to his rivals. He’ll have a field day debating which is the most effective. “You’ve got to be more careful. If you ever find yourself in trouble, just come to me. I’ll always be here to help you.”

They smile, sitting up on their own accord and feeling for any wounds that might’ve escaped the cleansing powers of Theo’s magic. Every cut is sealed and every bruise is gone, leaving the manager with a feeling of rejuvenation. At once, they recognize the plush fabric of Theo’s cape and gasp, noticing just how much blood has stained the white cloth.

“I’m sorry for making such a mess. I’ll wash this as soon as we get back.”

Theo eyes the color with disdain. How utterly cliché. It’s almost sickening. Red on white is too bold—too deep of an implication. Red is a color that means many things, two of that being passion and love. A third is the color of blood. And white is meant to symbolize purity. Theo knows he’ll have to work hard so that the manager’s purity doesn’t bleed out onto the sterile white of this corrupt world. There’s no way he’ll ever let that happen. When he stares at his cape, drenched in splotchy crimson, he sees more than just a soiled piece of fabric. He sees the darkest imprint of (Name). But blood is still messy, even if it is his beloved’s.

Theo wonders which cleaning agent is best for erasing blood. His thoughts spiral deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole of wickedness. Mortality is fragile, and cake and blood are no different. Both are victims of inescapable chance. On the other hand, immortality is a curse that binds him to the one he’d rather be far away from. Speak of the hemlock, who has completed the command with diligence. Nine approaches with the others in tow, all of whom crowd the manager like insects. Theo wishes to spend a moment longer with them. Just a few more minutes. There’s so much I want to tell you. He’s bound to this silver-lined rivalry, a prisoner of obsession. And Nine has no idea.

He supposes that’s how poison works. It doesn’t take long until it spreads within its victim, who is unaware as it shuts down vital organs and flatlines their functions. If Theo has to cut the strings that tie him to Nine and anyone else who dares get in the way of him and the manager, he’ll do whatever it takes. Like poison, it’s small and deadly. Poison might not kill an immortal Soul Reaper, but that has nothing to do with their mentality. Cake might be the same when it comes to ingredients and presentation, but it’s the baker who’s most important. A cracked baker is easy to exploit. He’s even easier to tear apart when he’s alone and basking in his own corrosive thoughts.

The oleander festers at the manager’s side, a quiet flower waiting for an opportunity to infect everyone with debilitating poison.

------

Nine has begun to notice a pattern. It’s tiny at first—like a minor inconsistency that isn’t worth the trouble. But then it becomes a prominent itch that looms in the back of his mind like a shadow. Since that mission, Theo’s been hanging around the manager as if he expects another near-death experience to happen, which shouldn’t be much of a worry. Although (Name)’s mortality is concerning, Nine knows the Reapers in the 14th Department would never let any fatal harm befall their precious manager. So why is there a strange feeling that overwhelms him whenever he spots Theo trailing after them, holding files or a bento he made specifically for them? Anyone with half of a brain would assume he’s playing favorites, attempting to get on the manager’s good side so that the punishment for skipping out on work is lighter. Though Theo doesn’t seem like the type to slack off, which is why Nine is sinking in a state of perplexion.

What is he trying to achieve? Realistically, what is there to gain other than (Name)’s approval? They like each and every one of the Reapers, so it’s not like anyone’s on their bad side. He has an eternity to figure it out, though Nine can’t exactly be bothered. If it isn’t hurting anyone, why should he fret over Theo’s behavior? It’s not as though he’s acting out of line. Rather, he’s been quite pleasant. He even offered to assist Nine in moving a few boxes. Nine doesn’t want to hold any suspicions about his colleague, nor does he want paranoia gnawing on his ankles like a puppy.

Without realizing it, he’s been aimlessly walking through the campus as he pieces together fragmented thoughts. His eyes land on the manager, who is alone as they stride towards him. For once, Theo isn’t at their beck and call. Nine thinks of Day and his unwavering loyalty. Perhaps Theo is just as enthused about (Name) as Day is with him. Nine shrugs those comparisons away, opting to focus on his manager.

“Hi, Nine! What’re you doing out here?”

“Taking a small stroll,” he answers. “The weather is perfect for this, and it’s always beneficial to get some exercise.”

“I agree. To be honest, I wanted to clear my head for a bit. I’ve got so much work that it’s beginning to stress me out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Manager. Would you like any help?”

“I don’t want to bother you.” They wave their hand through the air as if the distress isn’t clear enough. It’s obvious they’ve been pulling all-nighters just to get through paperwork and other tasks. “Would you mind if we walked together?”

Nine considers their offer for a moment. While he would prefer a few more moments to himself, he can’t deny someone as caring as (Name). It’s almost a crime to turn them down, and he has no idea where all of this fondness is suddenly coming from. Regardless, there’s a sneaking sensation that touches his sixth sense. Since when did the flowers have eyes? The wind rustles through the greenery, creating an eerie sound that settles in the courtyard. He’s compelled to retrace his steps and turn down the corridor, but your patient expression chases that idea away.

“I don’t mind.” He falls into step with you, calmly observing the deliberate clicking of your shoes. “Take care not to overwork yourself. The 14th Department depends on your leadership.”

At least a few Reapers are more than dependent, he thinks.

“I’ll be fine as long as I can finish everything on time. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Make sure you’re getting enough rest and eating your meals—“

“I know,” they say, drawing out the syllables. “I appreciate your concern, Nine. It means a lot.”

He nods, a simple gesture that confirms his gratitude. His manager is always thanking and praising the others. Briefly, he wonders if they’ve ever taken time to care for their own well-being rather than the well-beings of the Soul Reapers.

“When all of this is over, I’d love to spend more time with you,” (Name) goes on, a bounce in their step. Nine doesn’t miss the excitement that flashes through their features at the prospect of getting to bond with him. He’d rather be alone, but Nine has found it to be a challenge whenever they’re involved. “Do you think you could teach me to play an instrument? I’ve been meaning to pick something up, but I never seem to have time.”

Well, Nine happens to be skilled with his hands. And hands are required to play most—if not all—instruments. Perhaps you’d like to learn the violin, or maybe you’re interested in the drums. He’ll have to learn as he goes with those, but it’s worth it if it means (Name) will be happy. How odd. Where did all of this compassion come from? Nine knows what instrument they’ll say, as the two of them have sat in the storage room and played it on plenty of occasions. The atmosphere doesn’t change, but the flowers certainly do. As if wanting to blot out a horrid memory, the eyes close and a mouth creases into a tight line. Nothing short of disappointment.

“I was thinking I could be good at the piano if I tried hard enough. What do you think? We can play together, and we can even form a band.”

A band consisting of two people is hardly a band. Handcuffs can only restrict one person. A pair of unseeing eyes are useless, and Nine knows his words must be chosen carefully lest his tongue sit on a rusted tray.

He puts on a thin smile. “Learning an instrument can be just as stressful as work. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your health.”

“I’ll be fine, but you do make a good point. It might be overwhelming if I try to balance that and missions. One of these days I’ll try to learn.”

Just not now.

And he couldn’t be any more relieved.

------

Nine finds himself in the common room later that evening, reflecting over the events of the day when he encounters the blooming oleander. He’s preoccupied with the book in his hands, which is a collection of stories written by the famous Edgar Allan Poe. He never intended to pick up something so macabre. It happened to be the first thing he grabbed while perusing the shelves. Perhaps he should’ve looked for a poetry book instead. Before he can get up and complete that task, Theo enters his visage, the corners of his lips upturned. It fails to reach his eyes.

“Good evening, Nine. I didn’t expect to find you here. This is a wonderful surprise nonetheless.” He says a greeting that’s reminiscent of Nine’s, which has been tailored ingeniously. Recycled words are only worthwhile if they’re put to positive use, and Theo bleeds venom. He has no reason to speak to Nine. In fact, he’d rather avoid him at all costs, but that won’t work if he intends to poison his fragile mind with every bit of sly kindness he can muster. Theo has learned to be resourceful. A talented baker knows how to improvise, after all. “Oh, I recognize that cover. It’s an anthology of Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories. Which one are you reading?”

Nine glances at the page, picking out notable phrases. He’s at the part where the old man is smothered by his own bedsheets. “‘The Tell-Tale Heart.’”

“That’s grim, isn’t it? Well, all of his stories are, but that one in particular is really morbid.” Theo sits beside him on the sofa, keeping a gap between him and the weed that is Nine. “Wouldn’t it be scary if you woke up to someone trying to kill you? I know I’d be alarmed. But we’ve already experienced death, so maybe it’s not frightening anymore.”

He tries to understand the motive behind Theo’s incessant chatter. The two of them have never really clicked. Small talk isn’t something they can fall into so easily. Nine wants to ask Theo many things, but it’s wrong to suspect someone without any evidence. So he merely nods as he listens to Theo, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave. It’s not as if Nine doesn’t want to talk; he’s just not accustomed to this facet of the Day Reaper. Lo and behold, the question slips out before he can stop himself.

“What would you do?”

“Excuse me?”

“If you were one of the investigators, what would be your reaction to the man?”

“Oh,” Theo states, pursing his lips as if the inquiry requires deep thought. “We know that the narrator is unreliable. He only wants to kill the old man because of his eyes. He gets paranoid when he hears the man’s heartbeat coming from the floorboards, even after he dismembered his body. I’m sure anyone, investigator or not, would think he’s insane.”

“Do you think that?”

Theo bristles at the question, a sour taste coating his tongue. Why is he suddenly being interrogated by Nine? This isn’t an interview, and it certainly isn’t a questionnaire for a criminal. He laughs to cover up the crack in his mask. “Of course I do. No one of sound mind would murder someone defenseless all because of the way their eyes looked. Just saying it out loud like this is madness.”

Nine nods again. Insanity cannot exist without sanity. A heart cannot function without a beat. A parasite cannot live without a host. He’s not sure where this conversation is going. This is far from a cheery book club meeting. Nine searches every inch of his expression, noting the occasional twitch of his mouth and the constriction of his pupils. Yet he can’t detect an ounce of a practiced lie. Could it be that his instincts are misplaced? Is this what Theo has wanted all along: A moment to talk to Nine as friends rather than coworkers? Perhaps he has been incorrect in his judgement.

The book shuts; Nine doesn’t want to read anymore. There’s an unfinished composition waiting for him in his dorm room. Standing up from the couch, he lowers his head in the form of a farewell. He sets the novel on the coffee table so that Theo can indulge in the fictional world of Poe.

“I’m afraid something has come up, so I’ll be leaving now. Please enjoy the remainder of your evening, Mr. Theo.”

“I will.” Theo beams. “Sleep well.”

Nine doesn’t waste a second turning his back on Theo, exiting the common room with graceful movements. As soon as he’s out of sight, the happy grin melts away and is replaced with that of a dark scowl. He’s not a mindless fool. It was obvious that Nine was uncomfortable. He’s just too polite to say anything, and that’s a weakness Theo’s willing to dissect.

So you were reading Poe, hm? he muses to himself, picking up the book and turning it over in his hands. I took you for a poetry guy. How chilling, Nine. Manager wouldn’t like these grotesque tales.

Who is he to determine what they like and dislike? Theo’s watched (Name) for quite some time now, committing their quirky habits to memory. It’s almost comical how they never seem to notice. Nine does, but he’s always been keen, and yet he can never understand the meaning behind his constant staring. That’ll happen when you spend your days alone, keeping yourself entertained with the voice inside your head. Theo wonders if Nine gets lonely with that depressing lifestyle. The two of them are like night and day. Theo’s bright and blinding like the sun. Nine is quiet and calm like the moon. But there isn’t any oxygen on the moon, and the sun can steal a person’s eyesight without feeling any remorse. Two Reapers of complete opposites, rising and setting all the same. A weed and a flower masquerading in a game of cat and mouse.

Oleander grows to towering heights. A stalker’s presence looms as tall as the very flower Theo embodies. He doesn’t care if he’s a leech or a misleading flower. Anything’s better than hemlock and the imposter cake Nine’s baking. Theo’s the baker and the pianist, not Nine. It will never be Nine. He’ll make sure of that. At his very core, Nine is a jawbreaker of many emotions and memories. Theo will fracture every layer until nothing’s left. Until the ground is a mess of colors and stories that unfold before the entire 14th Department. He’ll dig into Nine’s mind with a knife and fork to pull apart stringy recollections of his past life. It’s guaranteed to be a dessert far tastier than a slice of cake.

Poison ivy is easy to identify. As the saying goes, ‘leaves of three, let it be.’ Theo isn’t as obvious as a sickening rash. That’s the difference between ivy and oleander. One kills and the other spreads with red irritation. While he could sit and wallow in bitter annoyance, he’d rather get to memorizing every hateful hex in his spell book. Maybe he can trick Ell into making him a felt doll of Nine. Oh, the thrill of voodoo. Theo’s never performed such dark magic before, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. He’d like to see Nine lose his mind for a change, because eternity knows Theo’s lost his.

The manager deserves only the prettiest of flowers, and oleander has such a gripping, virulent embrace.

#afterl!fe #after l!fe #afterl!fe theo #afterl!fe nine #oneshot #yandere themes #yandere afterl!fe x reader #yandere afterl!fe #yandere theo #afterl!fe x reader #afterl!fe theo x reader #yandere theo x reader #nine x reader #afterl!fe nine x reader #afterl!fe the sacred kaleidoscope

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years

Text

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter XXXI

Another year passed, marking the fourth year of Noctis' disappearance and (Y/n)'s slumber. Prompto returned from another successful hunt, proud to claim his reward from Takka. He sat down on one of the stools at the counter as the man handed over the amount for the bounty. The moment the money was slid in his direction, the blonde pushed a small portion of it back to pay for a nice meal.

Takka was more than happy to prepare a warm meal for one of his regulars. He quickly whipped up a dish and served it to Prompto. The young man was overjoyed to finally be able to slake his hunger and fill his grumbling stomach. In minutes, his plate was clean with not even a single crumb left behind.

Thanking Takka, Prompto stood and turned to leave the diner. He took a few steps towards the entrance, but froze when he recognized the person entering the establishment. It was Gladio. His peaceful expression was replaced with one of disdain. Lowering his head, he tried to walk past him, but the brute had other plans. He grabbed his arm and stopped him from leaving. "Can we talk?"

"What is there to talk about?" Prompto muttered with a scornful tone.

"Just give me one damn minute to apologize."

He yanked his arm out of the shield's grip. "After an entire year, you finally wanna apologize. Don't you thinks it's a little too late for one?"

"You don't have to accept my shitty apology, but at least let me say it."

Prompto was silent for a moment before replying, "Fine."

Both men walked out of the diner and a little ways towards the fenced-off perimeter to avoid drawing attention if things got heated again. Gladio combed a hand through his hair, which he had been growing out. "I know it's been a year since I said all that shit, but it took an ass beating from Iggy to realize how much of an asshole I've been in recent years. I'm sorry for what I said to you that day. You not only lost Noct, but (Y/n) too. Out of the three of us, you've had it the roughest these past four years."

Prompto crossed his arms. He could hear the sincerity in Gladio's voice as he apologized. He inhaled deeply before exhaling. "Even though it's a year late, I forgive you, big guy. Sorry 'bout punching you in the face that day."

The brute grinned. "I'm surprised you had it in you, pipsqueak. No one's ever punched me that hard. Guess you really have gained muscles over the years."

The younger man remembered the pain he felt in his hand after punching him. "I thought I'd broken my hand on your face..."

Gladio guffawed. "Guess you're still a little fragile." He glances out at the darkness surrounding Hammerhead, watching the daemons in the distance as they wander to and fro. "Since I'm here, think I could see Sleeping Beauty?"

Prompto was taken aback at the question. He didn't expect Gladio to want to see (Y/n). "Um, sure. I...don't see why not."

He smirked, smacking the blonde's shoulder. "What? You that protective of her that you won't even let one of her friends see her?"

"No, I just didn't expect to hear that from you."

"Hey, short stuff grew on me while she was traveling with us. You're not the only one who misses her, loverboy."

"R-Right..." He shook his head. "A-Anyway, she's in the garage."

Prompto led Gladio over to the backroom located in the garage. As he opened the door, his cerulean eyes widened in horror. A figure with spiky sable locks and emerald eyes who was cladded in hunter attire loomed over (Y/n). Prompto's eyes narrow in a sharp glare as he ran into the room, summoning his pistol. He shoved the person against the wall, pressing his forearm against their throat and aiming the firearm at their head. "Why're you here?!"

Callyx grinned wickedly and managed to speak even with the pressure Prompto was applying to his windpipe. "How could I pass up the perfect opportunity to slay the one guardian that stands in my way of becoming the vessel of a god?" His eyes looked toward the slumbering girl. "She looks so peaceful... It sickens me to the core. She doesn't even know what's become of this world all because Brahma decided to preserve her body by using a sleeping incantation. Don't you think that was selfish of him?"

Prompto shoves the barrel of the pistol against the spirit's head. "Don't you even think about touching her," he growled.

Callyx looked back at the marksman. "Well, well, well, look at you. You've really grown in the past four years. Never expected the weakest of the prince's revenue would ever become a man. It seems I was wrong." He reached his hand up and zapped Prompto, forcing him to release him.

The blonde grunted in pain as the electrical shock caused his body to slam against the opposite wall. He dropped his pistol, which alerted Gladio. The shield went to summon his greatsword, but Callyx was quicker. He kicked the brute in the chest and sent him through the door.

Turning his attention back to (Y/n), Callyx summoned a red and black dagger. He raised it just above his head and brought it down on the girl's chest. When he thought the blade was going to pierce her skin and kill her, the sound of gunfire and the dagger being flung across the room caused his eyes to widen. Snapping his head in the direction the bullet came from, he scowled at Prompto. "Look at you being her knight in shining armor. Maybe I should kill you first."

Callyx was ready to kill the blonde. He held his hand out to summon his sword, but his attention was drawn to the sound of running footsteps approaching. Peering through the now broken door, he saw a group of hunters running towards the garage. Clicking his tongue, he stepped back and looked down at the sharpshooter. "You were lucky today, but I will succeed. Whether it be tomorrow or years from now, I will kill (Y/n). You better be prepared to lose the one you love the most, Prompto Argentum." In the blink of an eye, Callyx vanished.

Prompto wasn't fazed by the guardian's threat. He quickly stood up as a couple of hunters entered the room. The young woman with crimson locks eyed him. "We heard a gunshot. What happened?"

There was no way Prompto could explain the truth and decided to lie. "Sorry, that was my fault. I was jumping at shadows and accidentally fired a round."

"Well, as long as you're okay," the man beside the woman said.

He nodded, pushing himself off the floor. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, guys."

The group of hunters left the garage once receiving confirmation all is well. Gladio entered the room and looked toward his friend. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Prompto went over to (Y/n) and examined her for any injuries. Seeing she was unscathed, a grim expression made its way onto his face. "She's not safe here anymore. I have to take her somewhere else."

"And where exactly did you have in mind?"

"Maybe Wiz's or Lestallum?" Prompto sighed. "I really don't know..."

"Let's take her to Lestallum. Iris can keep an eye on her while you're out hunting."

The blonde nodded. "All right."

"I'll get the car. You get short stuff." Gladio left the garage.

Prompto pulled the blanket off (Y/n)'s body and carefully took her into his arms. He carried her out of the room and towards the truck that Gladio was driving. Placing her in the truck between him and the brute, he hopped into the vehicle and closed the door. Once he was comfortable, he slung an arm across her shoulders and pulled her into his side. Her slumbering body slumped against his as they left Hammerhead.

Arriving in Lestallum, Prompto carried (Y/n) to Iris' place with help from Gladio. Of course, the young Amicitia was more than happy to keep an eye on the slumbering girl. She had a small apartment in the city, but she had a spare bed they could put the guardian.

A couple hours passed before everything was set. Prompto made doubly sure the spirit was comfortable even though he couldn't actually tell. He sat on the bed, back facing her sleeping form. One of his hands was placed over the top of hers, tracing her fingers with his own. He then squeezed her hand with a melancholic sigh. "I really should leave, but I don't want to." He turned his head, focusing his attention on her peaceful face. "Now that you're in Lestallum, it'll be more difficult for me to visit. But I'll try my best to visit at least three times a week. I know Iris will watch over you while I'm gone. I trust her."

Reluctantly, Prompto released (Y/n)'s hand and walked out of the spare bedroom. Before he closed the door, he glanced at her one last time. "See you soon, (Y/n)."

<-------------<<<<<

Six more years passed, making it ten in total. Prompto's visits to Lestallum were few and far between these days due to being swamped with hunts. He now fought all on his lonesome and rarely joined other hunters unless they called for his help. Now thirty years old, he had decided to grow a small amount of facial hair. He kept his goatee neatly trimmed and found himself wondering from time to time if (Y/n) would approve of his new look.

Prompto was driving to Wiz Chocobo Post. He was finished with his current hunt and needed to report to Wiz himself. He parked on the side of the road, exiting the truck and making his way over to the man. He explained the pack of ice bombs would no longer be an issue and received his payment.

Since it had been a while since his last visit, Prompto wandered over to the pens to see the chocobos after speaking to Wiz. As he was petting one of the birds, another one with (f/c) feathers in the pen beside it trotted over and began pecking at his pocket. "H-Hey, quit it!" He whined, trying to stop the chocobo.

The (f/c)-colored bird managed to wedge something out of his pocket. Prompto tried to take it back, but the chocobo let out a soft 'kweh' as it turned away from him and pulled the paper out of his reach. It didn't harm the paper or try to eat it, but it did trot around in circles with it wedged between its beak. When the bird managed to open the folded up paper by waving its head around, it chirped and plopped down on the ground. Gently, it placed the paper on the ground and tapped its beak repeatedly against what was drawn on it.

Prompto leaned into the pen and realized the chocobo pulled out the drawn portrait of him and (Y/n) in Altissia. He forgot he kept it in his pocket, wanting to take it everywhere with him. While he had numerous of pictures of him and (Y/n) on his camera, he was more fond of the portrait. "Hey, buddy, can I have that back?" He asked sweetly.

The chocobo harshly squawked at him before nuzzling its beak against the drawing of (Y/n). Prompto couldn't understand why the bird was doing such a strange thing until it clicked. "Wait, you're that chocobo that really likes (Y/n)!" At the sound of the girl's name, the (f/c)-feathered bird hopped to its feet with an excited 'kweh'. It bumped its body against the railing of its pen repeatedly.

Prompto reaches out and pats the top of its head. "Sorry, buddy. She's not with me today, but I'll try to bring her with me the next time I visit. Just hang in there 'til then."

The chocobo grabbed the paper and gave it back to him. He folded it neatly and slid it back into his pocket. Stroking the bird's head one last time, he began walking back to his truck. As he went to grab the keys from his pocket, his phone started ringing. Wondering who it was, he pulled the device from his back pocket. Peering down at the screen, he was receiving a call from Talcott. He hadn't heard from him in a while and wondered if there was a problem. Accepting the call, he used a bubbly tone. "Hey, Tal! What's up?"

Prompto nearly dropped his phone when he heard the news Talcott shared with him. He scrambled into his truck after the call ended and drove as fast as he could to Hammerhead. He pulled into the outpost and saw Ignis and Gladio eagerly awaiting for Talcott.

Ten minutes pass before Talcott drives through the gate. He pulls his truck to a stop and someone exits the passenger's side. The door slams behind the person. Strolling towards the three men, Noctis greeted them casually. "Hey."

Gladio couldn't help but huff out a chuckle. ""Hey"? That's all you have to say for yourself-after all this time?" He puts his hand on Noctis' shoulder and playfully shoves him.

Prompto was excited to see his best friend had returned. "Noct, it's you! It's really you!"

"Is it? I hadn't realized," Noctis teased.

"Well, well. You kept us waiting," Ignis spoke up.

He walks up to the strategist and places his hand on his shoulder, which makes him smiles. "Not like I wanted to. We've got catching up to do." Then, he looked around and noticed one face was missing. "Where's (Y/n)?"

"Brahma placed a sleeping spell on her to preserve her body after you were sucked into the Crystal," Prompto mumbled sadly.

"Sleeping Beauty's in Lestallum. Iris is taking care of her," Gladio added.

That's when realization slapped Prompto across the face. "Now that you're back, she's gotta be awake! W-We need to head to Lestallum right now!" He rushed over to Talcott before he could get out of the vehicle. "Hey, Tal, think you could give us a lift to Lestallum?"

"I don't see why not. Hop aboard," Talcott answered.

Prompto then casted his eager smile towards his friends. "What're you three waiting for? Come on!"

Noctis smiled. "Last time I saw him this excited, we were heading to the chocobo farm."

"He truly has missed (Y/n)," Ignis said.

"It wouldn't be polite of us to keep a lady waiting," Gladio chuckled. "Besides, if we don't hurry, pipsqueak's gonna hightail it outta here without us."

"Then let's go," Noctis said.

The four pile into Talcott's truck. Gladio and Prompto sit in the flatbed while Ignis and Noctis were inside the cabin. Talcott left Hammerhead and headed for Lestallum.

The moment they crossed into the Cleigne region near the illuminated city of Lestallum, Gladio received a call from Iris. He didn't even get to greet her before she began worriedly screaming over the phone. The shield winced, pulling his phone away from his ear slightly. "Hey, calm down, Iris. What happened?"

Prompto wondered what the sudden call was about and eavesdropped. He shook his leg as he could make out bits and pieces of what Iris was trying to say. He eagerly questioned the brute when the phone call ended. "Did something happen?"

"You're probably not gonna like this," Gladio said. "(Y/n)'s missing."

Prompto gasped. "What...?"

"Iris turned her back for a minute and during that time, (Y/n) vanished. She's looking for her as we speak."

The blonde bit his bottom lip, worried about his beloved. "Wh-Where could she've gone?"

Gladio leant forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll find her."

Prompto ceases rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, nodding. "Yeah..." Even though his friend tried to provide him comfort, he couldn't help but worry. It'd been ten years since Brahma put (Y/n) to sleep and now after she's awoken, she's missing. He was on edge the rest of the drive.

Arriving in Lestallum two hours later, Prompto hopped out of the flatbed beside Gladio. Ignis and Noctis exited the cabin and began searching the city after being told by the shield what happened. They searched the alleyways, the main thoroughfare, and the market.

After regrouping near the marketplace, the four men made their way towards the last place they hadn't checked: the power plant. As they reached the top of the stairwell leading to the bridge connecting the power plant to the rest of Lestallum, they spotted a girl standing outside the gate. Her (h/c) locks blew in the light breeze sweeping through the city.

Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio stopped where they stood while Prompto took a few steps forward. He inhaled a shaky breath before exhaling it. Almost like a newborn animal, he stumbled slightly as if he hadn't used his legs before. "(Y/n)...?" He called out weakly.

The girl turned around, blinking in surprise before smiling. Her golden eyes landed on Prompto, admiring how he's changed. She then looked towards the other three men and saw they too had aged. "Oh, wow. You guys look old. What did I miss?"

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#final fantasy xv #ffxv #ffxv x reader #prompto argentum #prompto x reader #prompto argentum x reader

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eremiss · 4 years

Text

12: Tooth and Nail

(light cw: descriptions of post-fight injuries and being poisoned/drugged. Takes place during Post-HVW MSQ “Consequences”)

Ten minutes, Thancred had said. Ten minutes for Gwen to try and wait out the lingering symptoms of the poison she’d been dosed with, make sure Falcon’s Nest wouldn’t fall apart in their absence, and try to find Honoroit --”If you truly must.”-- then they were heading back to Ishgard to deliver the news of the disastrous Conference. His tone had brooked no room for argument.

She took extra care to mind the time, as being late would likely have Thancred assuming the worst. They’d already had quite enough excitement for one day and she had no desire to add to it, plus his mood was already poor enough.

Ten fruitless minutes later Gwen trudges up the ramp to the landing platform, shoulders hunched and spirits low. The garrison’s morale is understandably poor and there’s naught to be done about it, though it seems her departure isn’t cause for it to deteriorate further. There was no sign of Honoroit anywhere, and the people she’d spoken with hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him.

Her stomach rolls and twists, a weak, nauseous ache permeating her limbs that shivers up her throat whenever she moves too quickly. She’d retched up the tainted wine the moment she was able, but it had plainly been in her system long enough for its effects to linger.

If I knew what was in it, I could maybe try and counteract it somehow… But she doesn’t, and the woman who does is likely dead.

The landing platform is deserted and quiet, the chocobo stables practically empty compared to when she’d arrived. Apparently she’s the one that has to wait for Thancred for a change.

Whoever is supposed to be on watch has abandoned their duty for the moment, and no one around to see her wander past the gates. The wind is faster and sharper without buildings or mountains to block it, cutting through her outer layers and straight down to her bones. She shivers harshly and crosses her arms tightly across her chest as her bangs whip her face and her ears burn themselves numb, missing the sweltering heat of the barracks. At least the sharp chill doesn’t make her feel ill.

Gwen sweeps her eyes across the empty platform, wondering where Honoroit could have gone, and what he might’ve been thinking. There’s no way he just up and abandoned Emmanellain, surely? He’s stuck to his master’s side like glue through everything until now. He couldn’t possibly…

There’s a lump on the far side of the platform. A small figure with brown hair dressed in familiar blue and white garb. It looks sort of like--

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Honoroit?”

He twitches and raises his head, peering blankly at her as she rushes over to him. “M-Miss Ashe?” he croaks, confused.

“Hush, hush, don’t talk,” she chides gently, panic and worry tightening like vices around in her chest as she kneels to inspect his wounds.

Bruises are splattered across every ilm of bare skin, and his clothes are torn and dirtied with patterns that distinctly resemble boot prints. His face is mostly black and blue with a nasty cut over his brow and on his lips, one of his eyes swollen nearly shut.

Honoroit tries to sit up, slow and careful as he shifts his weight and favors his right side. He only makes it halfway before he grimaces and sinks back to the ground with a pained sound.

A fresh surge of concern mutes the dismayed, impotent static buzzing through her thoughts. Questions and anger can wait. She lays a light, comforting hand on his arm and hopes she isn’t touching a sore spot. “Be still, Honoroit...”

He needs to get somewhere warm, first of all, as his lips are distressingly blue. Ideally that will be somewhere with a healer, as her initial assessment of his injuries isn’t good. Even natives of Ishgard aren’t immune to the cold, and she has no idea how long he’s been out here lying on frozen stone. But how to move him without worsening his injuries....

“Honoroit!!” Emmanellain’s distraught voice cries from behind her.

She lifts her head as two sets of footsteps rapidly approach, the nobleman making panicked sounds every step of the way with Thancred, expression grim, just behind him.

When Emmanellain is finally able to see the extent of Honoroit’s injuries his face twists with horror and he drops to his knees by Gwen’s side. “No, no! What have they done to you!?”

He reaches towards Honoroit, and Gwen puts an arm in his way. He whirls on her, his stricken glare demanding an explanation.

She tries to appear calmer than she feels and makes a mollifying gesture, shaking her head. You shouldn’t move him.

A wash of different emotions twist Emmanellains face one way and then another, and he looks like he has half a mind to shout at her. Instead he makes an aggravated, high-pitched whining sound and slaps his hands down on the stone ground.

“Is that you, my lord?” Honoroit offers a feeble smile and struggles for a light tone, as if making a jest, “You... you seem rather flustered.”

“Because of you, you imbecile!” Emmanellain exclaims, “What in the seven hells happened to you!?”

“My… my apologies… Some few of the guests expressed a wish to leave...and I implored them to stay.” He makes a weak imitation of a laugh, “It would seem they took issue with my request.”

Rings would explain the small cuts and abrasions in the bruises on his face...

Gwen’s stomach lurches in a way that has nothing to do with the poison she’d been dosed with. All of her worried thoughts take on a frazzled, angry edge that wears at her already thinned nerves. A twinge in her clenched jaw and a telltale ache shooting from her teeth to her temples signal that she successfully kicked off a headache.

“Gods forgive me…” Emmanellain groans, burying his face in his hands. “If I had only been more careful with my words!”

“Do not blame yourself my lord,” the younger elezen insists. “I know… I know that you and your brother have Ishgard’s best interests at heart. That poor woman… She lives in the past, clinging to memories of the lost.”

He’s admirably composed considering everything that’s happened, even accounting for the fact he’s generally more mature and levelheaded than his master. Empathy for the dissidents and protesters has only made his conviction for Aymeric’s cause that much stronger.

“But the future holds so much promise. So much joy. And you…” His voice wavers and Gwen tenses, her heart skipping a beat. “You... know that better than any…” His words fade to nothing and his eyes slip closed. Then his head lolls to his chest.

Gwen immediately checks his pulse. It’s steady, thank the Twelve, as is his labored breathing, but his complexion has gone frighteningly pale.

“Honoroit?!” Emmanellain half rises, panicked. His mouth works uselessly for a moment before he turns his fearful eyes on Gwen, “Gwen, do something!”

Her chest constricts sharply and she freezes

Ever since the Vault she can’t...

Couldn’t, a small voice corrects. Y’shtola has been tutoring her for more than a moon, and she’s made enough progress that she’s begun regaining the ability to use healing magic. It’s feeble and terribly taxing, a far cry from the white and red magic she used to wield, but she can manage it. As she is now, weakened by that poison and with a fresh host of doubts welling up and knotting in her chest...

But Honoroit needs help. And she can help, at least minorly.

She bites her lip, voices she’ll never hear again murmuring at her in time with her heartbeat. One rings out louder than the others, gentle despite the volume.

For those we have lost. For those we can yet save.

She can’t fully mend his wounds, but she can at least ease his pain. No matter what her clinging doubts try to mutter, she knows she can do something. Not much, maybe, but not nothing, and that’s enough. It has to be. However draining it is on her, she’ll manage. She’s had worse, after all, and she can rest and recover once they’re back in Ishgard. For now... She has to at least try.

Gwen takes a steadying breath and makes a clear place in her mind before holding a hand over Honoroit’s chest. She closes her eyes and breathes, gathering her focus and recalling Y’shtola’s patient instructions, replaying the simple exercises they’d practiced for bells. When it all feels solid enough to work with, she begins to mumble an incantation.

As the spell takes shape a weak light flickers to life under her hand, drifting over Honoroit like mist. She senses bruises of all shapes and sizes, cuts, cracked bones... no internal bleeding or anything blatantly life-threatening, at least. It’s an issue of quantity, the sheer multitude of otherwise-lesser injuries amounting to something more severe.

With the injuries assessed, she shifts her intention to healing. Immediately the spell begins to pull at her in earnest, drawing out her energy and replacing it with intangible weight that begins to pile on her shoulders.

Even a layman could tell that her conjury is that of a novice, at best. But, feeble as it is, it’s still enough to slowly mend cracked bones and knit broken skin, and the cuts on his lips and brow gradually close. Hopefully he’ll be able to rest a little easier.

She knows it won’t be long before fatigue settles in, but hopefully Thancred and Duskfeather will make sure she at least gets back to Ishgard before she falls asleep on her feet. Her head is still pounding a dull rhythm, and she’s sure it will likely start to worsen soon, too. It’s fine… So long as the spell is working, it’s fine.

“He’ll live, but it’s imperative we get him inside and into the care of a chirurgeon once he’s stable,” Thancred says calmly. With any luck his steady composure will help Emmanellain pull himself together. “Gwen can only do so much.”

“Only so much?!” Emmanellain demands shrilly.

Gwen winces, squeezing her eyes more tightly shut against the kick of doubt and frustration that tries to crack her barely-solidified concentration. She screws up her mouth and works to ignore that, too.

Thancred’s tone hardens, “It’s a sight more than either of us can offer, unless you have knowledge of conjury that you’ve been keeping secret.”

Emmanellain struggles for a response, half syllables coming out one after another before he settles for an angry hiss. “Gah! We were so close! Why does it all have to fall to pieces!? Don’t they want to live in peace!? Don’t they want to be happy!? We all want the same thing, and still-- STILL it falls to pieces!”

The words buzz in her ears like stinging bugs, the volume piercing her focus. Suddenly she can feel sweat gathering on the back of her neck despite the wintry chill, and the edges of her vision are doing strange things.

“Tell me, what--what was I supposed to do, hm?!” He demands, a desperate, petulant twinge cracking his voice.

She can feel the way each throb of her head rattles the focus she’d worked so hard to gather, pain and exertion freely jostling her thoughts.

He stomps his foot furiously, “Someone, anyone, tell me: what was I supposed to do!?”

Her vision warps and her headache throbs in her teeth. The spell unravels in her thoughts and on her tongue, and she abandons the incantation with a pained groan.

It’s hard enough to heal Honoroit between her struggles with conjury, the headache, and the lingering symptoms of poison, and now Emannelain is making it all worse by yelling.

She drops her head into her hands and gulps steadying breaths, fingers icy and numb against her pounding head. Stop being dizzy, stop being dizzy... She isn’t sure if it’s her numbed fingers or a genuine fever making her skin so hot to the touch, but the sheen of sweat suggests the latter.

His voice cracks with panic when he realizes she’s stopped her healing spell. “What are you doing?! Don’t stop!”

The Banquet, the Vault, Azys Lla, the Antitower, faces she’ll never see again, and too many other godsamned things shove up up against the inside of her skull until her head feels like it’s going to split in two.

All at once her throat itches with a stifled scream, her eyes sting and her chest aches like she sprinted for malms without stopping.

She doesn’t know what she should do, what she wants to do, but her nerves are bristling, her heart is pounding, and her body is thrumming with desperate, impotent fury, and she’s so sick and tired of losing people, of failing, of being so useless-- of-- of--

A hand clamps on her shoulder and gives one firm shake.

Her thoughts upend and crash back to the earth, abruptly deflating and crumbling into splinters and shards.

“Breathe.”

She sucks in a mouthful of wintry air and chokes on the cold. After a few tries she catches her breath enough to loosen some of the knots in her chest. When did she start holding her breath...?

Gwen’s head is still a litlte woozy as she looks up. Thancred is leaning over her, his mouth set in a firm grimace and his expression woodenly calm. He twitches his head towards Honoroit, Focus. Heal him.

The tide of anger and adrenaline passes as quickly as it came, taking the dizzy spell and a modicum of her headache with it. Gwen wipes the sting out of her eyes in place of shaking her head, pushing away the briars and splinters clinging to the inside of her head. She’s no less overwhelmed than she had been a minute ago, but she’s pushed off the worst of it for the moment. That’s good enough.

Thancred releases her shoulder, straightens and turns to face Emmanellain. The nobleman is being surprisingly quiet, perhaps realizing he’d overstepped.

She counts the breaths hissing between her teeth and grasps for calm, pushing her shoulders down and trying to clear her mind. The sight of Honoroit, battered and unconcious, is sobering enough to quell the last simmering strains of irritation and get her mind back in line again.

She closes her eyes and re-gathers her focus through the haze of her headache, trying to ignore the briefly-forgotten fatigue that’s still hanging on her shoulders. Twelve but white magic is so much more taxing than it had ever been--than it should be.

Gwen rests her hand on Honoroit’s chest to center herself and stubbornly, purposefully mumbles the incantation over and over until the sounds and shapes of the words hollow out a big enough place to hold her concentration.

Emmanellain speaks, “Well? If you have something to say, say it!”

The spell takes shape again, magic trickling from her into Honoroit and flowing out to the worst injuries yet in need of attention. She can feel that the spell is weaker than before, that it’s working more slowly, but it’s still helping. That’s what matters.

Thancred’s voice is hard and flat, scolding, “Stop looking to others. You make your choice and you live with the consequences.”

There’s brief sputtering followed by a few harsh, seething breaths.

Suddenly there’s a short, hard impact. Instinct identifies the sound before her mind can: a punch.

“And what would you know about consequences!?” Emmanellain spits bitterly. “You, who always knows just what to say and just what to do! Your every deed is greeted with a round of applause!”

Gwen winces away from the words, bitterly wondering how fate’s timing could be so spectacularly terrible. There couldn’t be a worse time for such perfectly aimed words. Matoya’s cave and the Antitower are scarcely a sennight behind them. People claim fate likes to ‘jest’, and apparently its sense of humor is twisted and cruel.

All at once the air grows close and heavy, bristling with energy like the calm before a storm. Apprehension tightens across her back and she catches the inside of her cheek in her teeth, worrying thoughtlessly at it. It is much too quiet...

A much louder, harder impact rings out, more like a thunderclap than a drumbeat.

Emmanellain’s yelp of pain is abruptly cut off by the heavy, metallic thud of a chainmailed body hitting stone ground.

Thancred’s voice is low and furious, the point of a knife sinking home. “You know nothing about me. I have fought tooth and nail for the people I hold dear-- done everything in my power to save them, to protect them...and I have failed.” A beat of silence filled with a harsh breath, “Learn to live with it. I have.”

A heavy feeling settles in her stomach, apprehension morphing into worry that convinces her turn her head. She opens her eyes and peeks over her shoulder, keeping the majority of her focus on her tenuous spell.

Thancred is standing over Emmanellain with a face like a thunderstorm, fists clenched tight at his sides. Emmanellain stares silently up at him, frozen in shock.

Thancred seems unharmed, while one side of Emmanellain’s face is rapidly darkening and his jaw is hanging at a slightly awkward angle that suggests it might be broken.

Gwen has never heard Thancred so furious before. She’s never seen him snap. He spat those words like curses, like they’re a burden he’s suffered and agonized over for ages without reprieve. They speak of a kind of deep ache and near-hateful sort of guilt that Gwen is much too familiar with.

Thancred turns brusquely on his heel and storms away in silence.

Gwen avoids Emmanellain’s gaze and turns back to Honoroit.

She immediately resolves to talk to him, but not until he’s had time to cool off and settle out. She’ll do what she can for Honoroit first, then she’ll go after him.

Gwen is more than a little wobbly on her feet as she staggers back down the ramp into Falcon’s Nest. Her vision is behaving itself, but her head is throbbing, her legs are weak, and her stomach is refusing to settle down.

Though it took entirely too much effort, she still finds no small amount of satisfaction in successfully managing healing magic again. She’s improving, slowly but surely.

Casting her eyes around the open square turns up nothing, and she rubs at her heavy eyelids with a pout. She’ll have to go searching, then. But where to start? On a whim, she turns for the barracks.

She finds Thancred in an out-of-the way spot a stone’s throw from where she’d hidden earlier to purge the tainted wine from her system and wait for her grasp on conciousness to solidify. He’s leaning against the wall and radiating the air of a man better left alone, arms crossed tightly across his chest and a stony glower on his face.

He glances up as she approaches, shrewdly scrutinizing the rhythm of her steps and the way she’s carrying herself.

Concern, discomfort and reemourse coil around her chest and tie knots in her head, images of Matoya’s cave flitting past her vision. She takes a slow breath, feeling a bit like she’s readying to try more healing magic.

Mourning and grief do crazy things to people, and no one handles it the same. Gwen knows that. She withdraws, physically and mentally, growing hollow and distant and numb. She wilts and shrinks, always drained and slow as if she’s wrapped in a layer of lead that separates her from the world, trying to insulate and protect herself. She hasn’t yet mastered pulling herself out of it, but she’s always --eventually-- managed it with the help of her friends.

Thancred closes himself off and binds himself to his mistakes, as if not forgiving himself for them means he won’t make them again. He pushes others away and walls himself in with his hurt, treating it as a lesson to be learned rather than a wound to mend. It lies just beneath the surface and drives him to lash out when it grows too painful to hold, like on the landing platform, and over time it sinks into him, a weight he carries that he never speaks of or shows even as it changes him.

But...

It’s not that Gwen thinks he doesn’t have the right to his misery or grief, especially after losing someone so dear as Minfili. The events of the Antitower are barely behind them. Of course he’s still hurting and struggling with all of it.

It’s how he’s handling it--or rather, not handling it, and what it’s doing to him that she’s worried about. He’s hurting. He’s insisting on struggling alone, on holding everything in and carrying it with him, like he did after being freed from Lahabrea, and refusing to allow it to rest.

It’s too soon to really begin healing, maybe, but not so much that she can’t remind him that he isn’t alone.

Gwen stops in front of him, just out of arm's reach. Her limbs are heavy, her head is throbbing and her stomach is shifting unpleasantly, but she does her best to keep her discomfort to herself. She settles her weight on her feet and regards him with a concerned and placidly questioning look. What was that back there?

They stand in silence, simply looking at one another and waiting.

Thancred’s expression loses a smidgen of its harshness, though otherwise remains flat. Gwen loosely folds her arms against the chill, chewing the inside of her lip and worrying the sleeves of her coat between her fingers. She can wait for as long as she needs to.

Thancred shifts against the wall and sharply turns his head, putting the black wrap of cloth towards her. A dismissal, most likely. He doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t want sympathy and, more than that, he doesn’t want her there. It stings, even as she corrects herself that he likely wants to be left alone to brood and doesn’t want anyone around.

Blue and purple are creeping out from beneath the edge of the cloth. The evidence of Emmanellain’s punch.

Gwen shifts her weight, numb fingers prickling as they slowly warm, her teeth sharp against the inside of her cheek. Then she takes one slow, somewhat cautious step forward.

Thancred tenses but doesn’t move, clinging to the hope she’ll go away if he ignores her long enough.

She takes another step and comes to a stop, now well within arm’s reach. She cautiously lifts a hand towards his face.

The motion makes him twitch and he jerks his head back around. She pulls her hand back in time to avoid colliding with his bruised cheek.

His expression is guarded as he glowers at her, a hint of incredulity and impatience tugging at his mouth while his eye is sharp. There’s a feeling tense expectation hanging about him that has a definite, bristling edge to it. He’s braced for a reprimand or a lecture, and is plenty ready to retaliate and start an argument. In fact, he almost looks like he’s hoping for an excuse to do just that.

Gwen gives him nothing of the sort, regarding him with a calm, weary look. She tentatively moves her hand towards his bruised cheek again, carefully studying his reaction.

He allows it, watching her like a hawk.

She stops short of touching his bandana, fingertips hovering just beside his cheek. She focuses on the back of her hand and scrounges up the last onzes of her energy for just one more small conjury spell.

Thancred’s jaw shifts beneath her hand, his shoulders tightening and lifting like he’s getting his hackles up.

A somewhat tenuous whisper of soothing magic ripples out of her fingers and flows across his skin. The effort leaves her feeling a bit like she stood up too quickly, but she sets her jaw and keeps at it. The fringe of blue and black begins to gradually soften and melt away, shrinking back beneath the edge of his bandana.

After a few slow, drawn out seconds his jaw flexes and he lets out a long, slow exhale that sounds distinctly like resignation. A bit of tension bleeds out of his posture and his shoulders begin to slowly sink back down.

Thancred’s expression gradually smooths out, angry sparks fading and antagonistic edge dulling. Eventually it settles into the dour, brooding look she’s more accustomed to.

His jaw tenses up, relaxes just enough to shift, then tenses again. She imagines the sound of his teeth grinding.

He turns his head ever so slightly, just enough that his cheek barely connects with the pads of her fingers. He takes a few careful breaths and closes his eye, brow not quite furrowed. There’s an air of resigned expectation to his silence and the passing seconds, as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Gwen doesn’t say a word, maintaining their slight connection and not pushing for more. He’s free to pull away, or to lean in. He’s free to talk, or not.

At length his eye opens again, and he looks a great deal calmer and more composed. “...I may have overreacted.” His voice is quiet but unapologetic, as flat as his mouth. “But it needed to be done. He was becoming hysterical.”

Gwen tilts her head a little, acquiescing the point. Thancred’s reaction wasn’t appropriate, no, and it was worryingly unlike him, but it was… understandable. Emmanellain is the one who threw the first punch, in all fairness, and he’d been doing a spectacular job of hitting their sore spots before that. She doesn’t blame the young nobleman for his frustration or whatever else he’s feeling, but that doesn’t mean she’s willing to listen to him rant whilst trying to heal his manservant.

Thancred takes another long breath, gaze drifting slowly over the stones around them. Eventually the silence urges him to speak again, “I understand the desire to look for reasons. For excuses. To convince yourself you had no choice. But the past is the past, and there is naught to be gained from reliving your mistakes.”

His tone has a heavy undercurrent of repetition to it, as though he was reciting words he was tired of hearing. Yet the words make his frown turn pensive, if a little wrinkled with bitterness, in a way that makes her think he’s yet working to fully process that statement himself.

Gwen tilts her head the other way, giving him a meaningful look. Are you telling me this? Or yourself?

“I know this,” Thancred insists immediately. “I know this.” His expression tightens, almost slipping into a grimace, and his eye drops back to the ground, “But he…”

He he huffs a sharp, frustrated breath and shifts moodily against the wall. He makes a point to keep his head still, maintaining their tentative connection.

She wonders how much striking Emmanellain made him realize the extent to which everything is affecting him.

Baby steps. Healing takes time. Understanding and overcoming one’s frustrations with themselves is a long road, and acknowledging them in the first place is the first step. He’s taken a step in the right direction. Hopefully.

Gwen can senses his cheek isn’t quite healed, but reluctantly admits she’s too spent to finish the job. She still has to fly to Ishgard and deliver the report to Aymeric, after all. And with her luck she’ll likely have more to endure after that, too, poison be damned.

She lets the spell peter out with a weary sigh, letting her hand linger for a few more seconds before dropping it back to her side.

Thancred takes a long moment to look her over again, bluntly studying her face and the way she’s holding herself. "You look hellish.”

Gwen’s lips twitch with a hint of a smile. No one is around, they’re alone and in private for the moment, so she reaches out to brush the tips of her fingers along his knuckles.

He watches, not quite impassively.

As her hand withdraws his turns, slowly as if it’s half-frozen. He curls his fingers just enough for the tips of hers to catch on his.

It’s surprising how steadying such a small thing can be.

Less than a breath later he lets hers drop. He shoulders himself off the wall and straightens up with a bit of muttering, brushing off his clothes. “Get your bird and let us away. We’ve important matters to attend to in Ishgard, and have kept the Lord Commander waiting entirely too long already. The lordling can arrange his return on his own time.”

--------------------

Tooth and nail - adverb with all one's resources or energy; fiercely

Oy vey @_@ this FFXIVWrite is really kicking my butt.

This is the first, and only, idea that sprung to mind when I saw the prompt. This part was so intense, and the conference just felt like the latest thing in the long list of “everything is going wrong fuuuuuu” @_@ I need to write more about this particular time in Post-HVW

#ffxivwrite2020 #Guinevere Ashe #Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #Gwencred #Post-Heavensward #Dragonsong War #My Writing #UGH MY BRAIN #god when he punched Emmanellain @_@#I was like 'oohhhh shit o.o... Uh Thancred? You good my guy?'

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ohmyhera · 4 years

Text

the tragic ending to an already tragic tale

T/w:mentions of r*pe,m*rder,p*edos, and Zeus saying some uncomfy things. Please proceed with reading this at your own discretion because this is chalked full of angst, more than I usually write for y’all so be careful.

“Nico-”

“You’re keeping it, now stop talking”Nico hissed. Will huffed and pulled the jacket—Nico’s jacket, tighter around his waist. It was cold, and they were wet and nothing seemed to be going as planned. The clouds grew darker and seemed to cover the sky completely only adding to their plight. Will paled, he didn’t do too well without the sun. His eyes fluttered towards the sky and he shuddered. The longer it was gone, the weaker he grew, it was his Achilles heel, the reason why he wasn’t allowed out on quests. He was a liability. Now, as the sky grew dark, and the clouds grew heavier, so did his fear. He wasn’t just a liability, he was Nico’s liability. And that made him feel even worse.

They were treading dangerously into no man's land, with the sun gone for gods know how long Will didn’t have access to his powers. Any of them. So that also means he was no help, he was as useful as a human who could barely shoot an arrow, and they didn’t even have arrows thanks to the Artemis girls accompanying them on the trip. They’d gotten split up about yesterday which already spelled bad news. Will knew it was the Gods doing, split up the team and they’re easier to pick off. It was practically the first rule in the book of killing a demigod.

They could have taken refuge in the underworld but Will wouldn’t—no, he couldn’t survive down there. Thanks to his unique skill set he would quite literally die if he stepped foot down there, no sun equals no Will. He frowned, he was completely useless—

“Shut up”Nico said. It was said so casually that Will actually went to apologize, but Nico shook his head.

“You’re thinking too loud, it’s stressing me out”Nico said. Will titled his head a bit.

“You can read my thoughts?”He said. Nico’s mouth quirked up in his own attempt at a smile and he shook his head.

“No, but I can read your face. You won’t be any good out there if you’re distracted”Nico said.

“If we ever get to where ‘there’ is”He said, folding his arms. He wasn’t sure if it was the cold or his nerves causing him to tremble, but here he was, trembling. He should have just stayed at camp, but his big mouth opened on its own when Nico volunteered to go. They all looked at him funny but sent him out regardless, they’ve never seen him fight but that also meant they didn’t have proof that he couldn’t. And he can! When he’s not seconds away from collapsing against a tree. He was starting to see doubles and quickly blinked his eyes, and it helped. Until it didn’t. He found himself walking slower,his heart beating faster and Gods it was so cold…

“Will...Will!”

The trees above him spun and he hit the ground with a thud.

“Fuck!”Nico said through clenched teeth. He threw himself to the ground and grabbed the blondes wrist feeling for his pulse. He felt it pulsing faintly, almost as if he was frozen. He bit his lip and squinted at Wills body, yellow tendrils of spirit floated around frantically trying to find a way out. He let out a shaky breath, Will wasn’t dying, he was just unconscious and his soul was in shock. His soul...his soul was in…

“Shit!”Nico shouted and pulled off his backpack searching for anything to keep his body warm. There was nothing in there but his sword,Wills arrow and some ambrosia. They really needed to start packing better. His mind raced and his body froze, if Will's soul went into shock he might not come back the same, he might...they might...Nico shook his head and pulled the blonde into his lap. He wasn’t going to let that happen, he wouldn’t. He folded his body over Wills and tried to remember something,any incantations that Will or the Apollo kids have ever said. He tried desperately to keep his body warm in the meantime.

But then it started to pour.

Harder than Nico had ever seen in both the lives he lived, this wasn’t an ordinary storm, this was foul play. This was the Gods doing. Nico gasped as the freezing water pelted the two and his mind soon knew nothing but anger. He knew not to provoke the Gods, he learned that from watching Percy get his ass handed to him more times than he could count, but now he knew. Now he knew how it felt to have the Gods slowly but surely try to take everything from you.

“What the fuck do you want from me Zeus!”He shouted towards the sky, Will's pulse was getting slower and he could feel his own pulse in his throat. “Tell me what you want you bastard! Call off the storm and face me! Are you scared or something!”

He felt a gust of wind behind him and resisted the urge to whirl around and choke the god. He didn’t have much time to think before the god was standing before him. No, Nico thought as his stomach dropped, that was too easy, it’s a set up.

“Well now, who do we have here?”The god said.

“Nico,son of Hades,”He said, surprised that his voice didn’t waver. “I said call off the storm”

“From the mean words you used, you’re in no position to be making demands”The god said.

“You don’t think anyone is in a position to do anything”He spat, “What’s your damage, Zeus? Don’t you have enough people to fuck with? Or is there not enough people to fuck? Are you getting bored again with your concubines? You feel the need to interfere on a simple fucking quest!”

He was red hot mad now. All he wanted to do was stab the god until he bled or sparkled or combusted or whatever it was that they did when they no longer existed. The god looked at him in disgust before flicking a finger and suddenly, Nico couldn’t breathe.

“You demigods—no no, you Hades brats think you have the right to talk to me anyway?”The god fumed, “I am a god! I can wipe you from existence,bring you back and do it all over again until you’re begging me to die!” He clawed at his throat but he wouldn’t give in, it felt good to get under his skin, to piss him off.

“But I won’t do that” he released the binding on the brunets airways and once again nico fell on top of Will—shit, he needed to save Will. Zeus seemed to ponder and shook his head.

“No I won’t do that or your daddy will wage war”The god said, “I don’t know why he cares for you brats when you do nothing for him, you hate him, you’re disgusted by him but yet he still loves you”

Nico felt his eyes sting and he quickly blinked it away, he wouldn’t fall for this.

“You rotten little halfbreeds don’t deserve his love, you do nothing but train up the next generation of miscreants and then die a hero”The god scoffed, “A hero, please. We haven’t had heroes in centuries. Aeacus,Amphion,Arcas, all my boys”

“I didn’t summon you here for you to bitch at me”Nico growled, “I summoned you to get an answer to a simple question, and no I don’t fear you, I don’t think you’ve met me but everyone who's ever crossed my path knows i’m not afraid to die young.”

“You’re an imbecile,”The god said.

“You’re a pedophile,a rapist,a murder-”Nico started, this time the god actually did choke him. The brunet was lifted far off the ground and he was face to face with the god he wanted to kill the most right now.

“If you’re going to disrespect me, say it to my face”The god said.

“Let go of my throat and I'll disrespect you all day long”He wheezed, he was thrown to the ground without a care. His body hit the dirt with a thud and he bit back a groan, he wasn’t letting zeus win this one. He peeked over at Will, at this point he only cared that his soul was still in his body. They’d cross the other bridge after Nico finishes giving Zeus a piece of his mind.

“Stop fucking with me and answer my question!”He spat.

“You have a cursing problem”The god said offhandedly.

“You have an impregnating problem”He said, “you hate us so much then stop creating us, use a condom!”

“You’re lucky I'm not killing you where you stand”The god warned.

“Stop making promises and just do it already!”Nico exploded, “Kill me Zeus, just kill me!” “I can’t!”The god shouted back, “your father would wage war and i’m tired of war!” “Then stop causing them!”Nico shouted, “And stop changing the subject! Call off this damn storm and tell me who’s hiding Hermes so we can both go back to not seeing each other's faces!”

A wicked grin grew across Zeus’ face and Nico gulped, yup, definitely a setup.

“Nico, son of Hades. If you were really trained right then you’d know there’s always an ultimatum”The god said. As soon as he heard ultimatum his body ran cold, fuck.

“Name your price,”He said quietly.

“Not so bold now are we?”The god grinned, “Seems like you have something to lose”

“Just name your price!”Nico snapped.

“Your temper needs work”The god warned.

“That’s rich coming from you”He huffed, but it went ignored.

“I’ll tell you where Hermes is being hidden and even how to get there if…”Nico followed the Gods eyes to Will who was still unconscious. His eyes widened and he shook his head quickly, no.

“No, not him”Nico said, “He’s got nothing to do with this”

“I’ve made my ultimatum”The god said, “He’s pretty,he’s blonde, why wouldn’t I want him?”

“No!”Nico growled. And the god laughed, Zeus laughed.

“It hurts having the one you love ripped away from you doesn’t it?”The god howled.

“I’m not in love with him!”Nico shouted. “Then why are you playing martyr!”The god said, alight with fury. “Besides, it doesn’t take a god of love to recognize attraction”

“Take me”Nico said, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Take you?”the god questioned, “Why would I take you?”

“I will do whatever you want,”He said through clenched teeth. “Take me and do what you see fit, but I want a new ultimatum”

“Humor me”The god said.

“Fix him”He said, “Fix him, give him the information for the quest and make sure no harm comes his way”

“That’s asking a lot of me”The god said, “You have to sweeten the pot”

“I am Hades' only son in history!”Nico shouted, “I would be a rarity on mount olympus, parade me around like some exotic pet, I don’t care! You wanted something the other gods never had and that’s me!”

“Cocky aren’t we?”The god said.

“You know it’s true”Nico panted, his chest rose and fell rapidly. “Take. Me.”

“Hmm”The god said, “That does sound pretty good, promise you won’t try and run away?”

“I promis-”

“No”The god said, “We’re making this deal...on styx”

There was a clap of thunder and the rain only intensified. Nico felt his life flash before his eyes. Christmas with mama and Bianca,the lotus hotel,his first few years at camp half-blood,Bianca’s death,the crush on Percy,meeting Will, his 18th birthday and how the Apollo cabin sung so loud it woke the mermaids in the lake,the way Will smiled so wide it reached his eyes as he smeared frosting across Nico’s nose. He was stunned into silence, all he could do was nod.

“I need that in words”The god said.

“I swear...on Styx”He whispered, another clap of lightning sounded and a pair of golden handcuffs appeared around his wrists. Immediately the clouds retreated and the sun was shining more brightly than ever.

“Well”he looked at Zeus, “Are we going?”

“No”The god said, “You’ve got someone to say goodbye to”

Nico’s eyes flooded with realization, “You bastard!-”

“Nico?”Will said in that sleepy voice, “What happened? Did I fall asleep?”

It really was a set up, this was planned, this was entirely planned and Nico fell for it. Split up the team and they’re easier to pick off. It was practically the first rule in the book of killing a demigod.

This was just the beginning. This was the first move in Zeus’ cruel game of chess.

“You won’t be seeing your Nico for a long time”The god drawled, “Also you really should have confessed your feelings for him earlier because now he’s all mine”

“W-what!”Will stuttered, whirling around. “Nico?”

“He practically begged me to take him”The god continued. “I would feel pity for you if I had any pity at all”

“That’s not true!”Nico shouted and immediately felt a surge of flaming hot pain sear through his body. He wailed and his knees buckled from underneath him as he waited for the pain to subside.

“Tsk tsk”The god said, “Techically you did and Styx doesn’t like a liar”

Nico felt tears roll down his face and he was still screaming. He tried to complete the quest, he tried to keep Will safe but he failed. He did everything he could and he still failed.

“I would say I hate to break up young love but that wouldn’t be true, would it be my new pet?”The god said, “What was that you called me Nico, a bastard? A pedophile,a murderer, a rapist?”

All nico could do through the pain was nod.

“Well i’m all those things”The god said, “but so. much. worse”

Fuck Zeus,Fuck Styx and fuck the gods, he should have converted to the Egyptian Pantheon a long time ago. He looked up to see Will practically frozen in his spot, tears of his own streaming down his face. He wanted to reach out but even the thought of it sent another wave of pain coursing through his body, even his mind was shackled to Zeus.

I love you, he thought defiantly. I love you, my heart belongs to you, my heart bleeds for you, I’d do anything for you—each thought sent a new wave of pain shooting through his body.

“I’m sorry”He croaked. It was the only thing he could say. The last thing he saw was sorrow in Wills eyes, and the once bouncing soul come to a sharp stop and crack. Will’s soul was broken.

And it was all his fault.

A/n hey guys, I’m alive! That was different than what I usually write but I hope you enjoyed it!

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netflixoxygenoxygen · 5 years

Note

Can you do an aaravos x reader where they were together before he got locked up. Perhaps the reader can punished/lock up somewhere else and once aaravos gets out he saves the reader. Basically just something about them reuniting. Thank you

of course - i got inspired so i wrote an actual fic but i hope u enjoy regardless! thank u for requesting :)

aaravos || together, again

Viren was easy to manipulate, but even so, Aaravos would have stopped at nothing to get you back. (1.2k words, S3 spoilers)

–

He knew misleading Viren had some risks. Not that the dark mage knew anything about that, he seemed to throw himself into anything Aaravos suggested and with him so completely under his control now, it was easier than ever. The other risks stemmed from the resulting fallout, or possible resulting fallout.

But he had no other choice; it was now or never and if it was never… well, Aaravos didn’t want to think about that. Would never acknowledge that.

The baby dragon had been easy enough to get, the moonshadow child simply left to Viren, vaguely familiar to him until the moment he realised just who she was–the child of those adorably stupid moonshadow dragonguards. His guards.

He had to scoff; half of those guards were only there in the event he got out, of course. Dragonguards? Avizandum couldn’t bear the thought of his lair not being enough to guard him so instead he summoned elves from all over Xadia, called them Dragonguards and refused to admit he knew just how powerful his prisoner was.

Well, that was in the past.

Just like you were. But not for long.

No, Aaravos smirked, calling up the vestiges of magic he’d stored away, deep within himself even in his state of disembodiment as he stalked through the hallway into the Dragon Queen’s sleeping area.

Ah, he surveyed, so she was indeed weakened. He schooled his emotions, focusing them into neutrality; it wouldn’t do well to react so strongly with her so close.

If only he was at full power… oh, the things he could do to make them pay.

He inhaled slowly. No, no, he had a mission. Sure, it might not have been the one he’d told Viren–the fool believing him as he said he’d needed to get something from inside the lair before taking the baby dragon–but it wasn’t as if Viren needed to know the specifics.

But the flower was not where it had been before, and for the shortest moment, Aaravos couldn’t help the spike of fear that gripped him. Intensely, unforgivingly.

He calmed himself, refusing to let his resolve waver as he stepped into the sleeping dragon’s lair, scanning the cavern until he saw it–you. Or, no that wasn’t right either; your prison, he should have said.

Sure the flower was gorgeous, bright and healthy amongst all the others–but it wasn’t you. You were far superior, far better, far stronger.

And yet only human, and so Avizandum had transformed you, rendering you into this plant, blooming just before his mirror, just so Aaravos could see you everyday, just out of reach, just to spite him, just to know how much he had failed–

A harsh breeze traveled the room and he shut his eyes briefly, calling back his emotions, quickly eyeing the dragon before moving soundlessly towards the flower. In an instant he was there, by its side, by your side.

A clash sounded in the hallway, reminding him of his time limit, of his situation. Viren must have been overpowering the elf.

He continued on, towards the flower, wondering; what would you say, when you found out just what the world had turned into? Humans banished, elves as prejudiced as ever, but… the Dragon King dead. Righteously dead.

Aaravos fought back that smile of triumph, pooling his magic, pulling little pieces from Viren’s–he wouldn’t notice, if he hadn’t noticed how far gone he was by now he likely never would–as he summoned the spell, reciting the incantation, his arms moving soundlessly as he drew the rune; complicated, but memorised by now (he’d practiced it too many times to not have it memorised; envisioned this moment endlessly).

He didn’t need a vessel for this; not when he had enough magic stored away, and though it would have made it easier, both in the past and for the future, in the event that a few… complications arose, he did not once think about the consequences. Not when the flower began to shine, not when it fluttered, blindingly bright as the spell progressed, growing and spinning until it changed.

He had told himself there wasn’t any need to look, but regardless he was transfixed as the light shone, enough to hurt, enough that he was forced to look away before it dimmed and dimmed and dimmed.

Revealing the same you in those last moments that had tormented him in his captivity. You were sleeping though, so different from the tears and screams that had torn from your throat as those elves ripped you from him and he’d watched in soundless terror–

There was no need to revisit those memories.

Not when you were back in his arms, eyes blinking open sleepily, just like those mornings before everything had changed, your body warm and familiar and everything and nothing he knew.

You were not just a mere floating spirit, though, not like he was. You were physically free, and with each ebb of his magic, his ability to touch you disappeared. With an aching heart, you slowly began to sink through his arms, and though Aaravos told himself it was not for long, it was hard to lose your touch after having missed it for centuries.

“Welcome back, my love…” He hushed, gripping your hand as he helped you sit up. You were disoriented and confused. But he was and ever would be patient. You were always a fast learner, quick to adapt but slow to love him–it was why he cherished that love so much. “Y/N–”

“Aaravos?” You croaked, voice raspy from unuse–though he did not know the nature of your imprisonment. Had it been like his? Or were you blessed and cursed with an eternal sleep–eternal until awoken, that was. “Y-you–” Your eyes widened, looking around the lair, body tensing at the sounds of combat closing in. “Are we still in danger? You’re–” Your grip on him tightened as you both felt it–soon, soon and he wouldn’t be able to feel you any more–and without warning you pulled him towards you, gripping him in a hug he had yearned for far too long.

“It is a rather long story. Centuries long.” He smiled through your hair as you huffed a laugh.

“Has it been that long, then?”

“Yes.”

“Then what is happening now?”

“War–”

“Again? Wasn’t there a war before?”

Aaravos chuckled, pulling back–

Only to phase right through your shoulders. His heart sunk, as much as he had tried to prepare himself, he loathed it the moment it happened. Quicker than he had expected, or maybe he’d just been too caught up in the moment. He always was, when it came to you; caught up in your very existence.

“I’m assuming… you’re in some sort of… predicament?” You asked, forlorn at the lack of contact. You glanced over his shoulder, Viren’s grunts loud enough that Aaravos knew they’d made it to the steps. “We’re in some sort of predicament, aren’t we?”

He nodded, savouring the way you spoke and looked and felt–you were here, finally, finally. “But soon, my love, and all will be over.” He reached a hand towards yours as you mimed the action of taking his. Despite the jarring physical emptiness, your hearts were full; together, again, like he had promised you all those centuries ago.

Aaravos knew that there would be confusion on Viren’s behalf but he also knew that there would be time to explain.

And even if there wasn’t, what did that matter? You were free, you were back, and now the real plan could begin.

#aaravos x reader #aaravos imagines #aaravos scenarios #the dragon prince aaravos #aaravos #tdp aaravos #the dragon prince #the dragon prince imagines #tdp imagines #request #my writing #writing #my work #anon asks #asks #anon #Anonymous

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fgodestinyawakenings · 4 years

Text

FGO Destiny Awakenings: Fujimaru Ritsuka and Fujimaru Ritsuko bio

My procrastination on life, writing my story, anything I needed to do is bad enough I’m surfing web day by day so.... Might as well get my ass to work on this

This is pretty long since it’s two people bio, so everything is under the cut!

Note: In regards to their Magic Circuit quantity, neither FGO wiki or material gives any information about them. I’ve estimated them to be around Emiya Shirou’s level of circuit, but can be lower or higher... But more likely lower as they are only receiving magecraft training in the story

Note 2: Foreign languages in here are courtesy of google translate, if you’re able to improvise its grammar, please drop me an ask so I can edit

Note 3: Some of the info are quite spoilerly but not that much spoiler since it’s a base information for me on their personality, background, magecraft

Note 4: After reading the bio, I know some will be enrage with me at the sensitive topics I’m about to touch for this story. Some are imagination, some are based on what I experience, and I won’t revealed which of what is imagination or experiences in reality. The bio will contain sensitive potential topics such as Depression & Family abuse, you’re entering this at your own risk to read.

Reminder: Yes this is fiction, but you need to separate in from reality. I’m not your babysitter to cater your needs, I have put up 4 notes to remind you of the content you’re entering. And yes, I’ve pacing back and forth on their backstory knowing the backlash I received since this is Fate lore we’re going in out of consideration.

Fujimaru Ritsuka

Character Type: Human, Master, Magus

Affliliation: Chaldea Security Organization

Gender: Male

*Lineage: TBA

Birthday: December 6th

Height: 1.72m

Place of Origin: Japan

Alignment: Lawful Good

Likes: Meeting and getting to know historical figures, Magi*Mari, Reading and Researching about history

Dislikes: Needles

Talents: Stage Magic

Circuit Quality: D

Circuit Quantity: D

Magic: Projection (Illusion), Hypnosis

Elemental Affinity: Air, particularly closest to Mist

Profile

Background

Ritsuka’s father divorced with his birth mother for unspoken circumstances and remarried to Ritsuko’s mother at the age of 11. At their first meeting, Ritsuka’s body was completely frail with his bones visible in plain view, wearing a dead emotionless face that shocked Ritsuko completely. His family situation was only described to young Ritsuko that Ritsuka’s father is doing everything it takes to ensure his mother will never come near him again.

But after spending more time with his new sister, Ritsuka gained back not only his weight, but his ability to speak, where first happened to yell at her for being reckless in fighting against their bullies. Though, he immediately regretted doing so and apologized afterwards when he knew all she did was to protect him.

Whenever someone brought up about his mom, Ritsuka immediately pushed the subject away to another topic. However when prodded further a little, he’s often described to be showing his real self by a broken look with a heartbreaking smile whenever he mentions about her

Personality

Intelligent, compassionate, self-conscious and rational with a reserved personality holding a snarky mouth, Ritsuka is considered the “brains” and leader to his sister and contracted Servants in their goal to restore humanity

By many Servants and Chaldea Staff who are Mages, he’s often described as someone “born with a heart that’s unfitting to be a magus”. Ritsuka would often bring his tablet along in each Singularity to inquire and take photos of the historical in each singularity. His scrupulous attention to detail comes in handy when he is off creating strategies to win against the enemies in the Singularity. And his ability to learn magic quickly helps in fasten his pace to be a better Master, but sometimes his answers in avoiding his friends to find out his meeting with Merlin within his dreams leaves others questioning his credibility for his talent.

Because of his strategic mindset, Ritsuka is highly perceptive to the others' feelings, and can figure out the source of most people's inner turmoil in a matter of a few important conversations.

“The last time someone falls in love with somebody, they had either--created a stepping stone to an illegitimate son to bring his father’s kingdom fall into ruins, trapped themselves forever in a land of utopia or even knocked up with his Master’s sister because why the hell not. No offense to you, Caster.”

-- Ritsuka to his sister while mentioning about Arthur’s, Merlin’s and Cu Chulainn’s love life

However his lack of experience in love and holding low regards about it from reading tons of historical and mythology books, had made him completely oblivious to his own and other people who had fallen in love with him. Though this is mainly of his own low self-esteem of his own worth as a person may have stemmed from his childhood, despite being considered an ace in everything he does by his sister. Ritsuka usually hide this but immediately quickly putting back up the façade of “a reliable and dependable but also ridiculously goofy person” when someone notice.

Understanding how critical their situation is, Ritsuka often refuse to sit still when there’s a given chance to do anything to help Chaldea. He also seems to get a little annoyed sometimes when people think he's cute or adorable, as he wants to be taken seriously like a grown-up from people around him as at most times Ritsuka is more mature and wiser than others.

When Ritsuka and Ritsuko are on their adventures in the Singularity, Ritsuka is the one to act as the leader because he is shown to be very brave and smart. He can be very protective of his sister, whenever she is in danger he is always there to help and will do anything to get her free.

It is also well mentioned that unlike his sister whom is open about her problems and sociable, Ritsuka is much more reserved and emotionally distant often avoiding talking about his past and himself. Even though he admired Heroic Spirits greatly and wished to understand them more, some would notice he often forced himself to draw a line from getting too close for some reason. But as the journey goes, Ritsuka has become greatly attached to everyone in Chaldea amd considered them strongly as his secondary family.

With his strong knowledge in history and novels, Ritsuka thinks much like an actual detective.

Despite his serious personality, living with Ritsuko his whole life (who is famous for her silly attitude) has caused him to indulge in childish activities with her. As such often either jokingly teased he’s forced to join with the shenanigans with the Child Servants, or mostly being the butt monkey teasing by them.

He also holds a huge soft spot towards children in particular to Jack and Mordred. When asked why in particular, Ritsuka easily gives his true smile that children like them deserve the love and acknowledgement they needed. But, he does a huge comedic soft spot to Alexandar and Ko-Gil, making his heart thumping when both used their charm while calling him “Onii-chan”.

He also seems to not mind breaking the rules in order to have some fun, which often having him to be scolded by Emiya when he does so. In particular habit is often staying up late or staying over at Romani’s room to watch Magi*Mari.

Abilities

“Merlin: After all, you and I are very similar, Ritsuka-kun. There shouldn’t be a problem for you to learn my tricks. Ritsuka: By similar, if you’re talking about having the same sexual reproductive organs... That’s captain obvious, Merlin.”

-- Ritsuka to Merlin on his first lesson with him

Illusion Magecraft

With his experience in entertainment magic, Merlin had taught him in magecraft of deception and proficiency in Projection. A magecraft that relies on fooling a being’s psyche to win, a magic which Ritsuka concluded only a mage like Merlin befits this magic for his notorious mischievous behavior.

Misdirection

Under the incantation chant “maintenant tu me vois maintenant tu ne”, Ritsuka will fool his enemy thinking that he had disappeared by their five senses. Rather than concealing his presence, Merlin described this spell as “Putting one’s attention focused strongly onto another. Like falling in love at first sight, where your world focus on that person alone!”

This spell Ritsuka commonly mostly to hide himself from enemy, and also additionally do a surprise attack from the back

However due to his quantity and quality of his magic circuits, Servants and enemies with strong sense and Clairvoyance are able to notice his whereabouts.

Projection (Illusion)

Unlike Emiya’s projection, Ritsuka’s projection creates objects based on his memories and imagination. A skill he’s able to do easily as though it’s strangely natural from his muscle memories, he currently lacks the learning to reinforce his projected works to a reality

Under Merlin’s teachings, Ritsuka is able to create an illusion of manipulating to fool his enemies five senses during battle. But, it may not work if one is able to see through eventually

To perform this magecraft, he need to act/pretend of an action in order to project the desired item from his mind into reality. However because it’s like an illusion, not only it lasted for seconds to minutes, that item may not even appeared in his enemy vision if the latter noticed the truth.

Combat

Even if magic circuits is weak, Ritsuka makes it up by physical combat via kendo. In combat, Ritsuka will give commands to his Servants while fighting against the lower mobs summoned by enemy Servants. Lacking any fear towards death, Ritsuka won’t hesitate to step forward to deal against enemy Servants if needed to buy some time for his allies Servant to summon their Noble Phantasm

As such even facing against a professional magus, Ritsuka treats it as an experiment test nearly at the cost of his own life to find a weakness within them.

Role

Ritsuka acts both support and fights with their Servants in Chaldea. He has no specific Servant in mind as being dragged into the World of Magus. Ritsuka admired all Heroic Spirits, often near instantly switched into his fanboy mode when meeting those he admired.

While he enjoys their company and wishes to personally know each of them better, he does get exasperated by some of the extremely colorful and chaotic Servants summoned in Chaldea.

But, Ritsuka instantly draws a line between him and the Servants from getting to close by often avoiding talking about himself and his own true feelings. Despite making himself distant from them, he cares a great deal about them and strongly hated the idea of treating them and anyone as tools or weapons to use.

Unlike his sister, he’s the one who supplies mana generally to most of the Servants via a technique Merlin taught him when he requested earnestly for his help.

Fujimaru Ritsuko

Character Type: Human, Master, Magus

Affliliation: Chaldea Security Organization

Gender: Female

Lineage: TBA

Birthday: May 29th

Height: 1.58m

Alignment: Lawful Good

Likes: Sports (mainly excel in softball and basketball), Morning workout as early as 4am, Sweets

Dislikes: Studying through reading of books, Anyone who hurts her brother and even attempting to bring up his family problems, House chores

Talents: Accuracy in throwing and quick learning speed taught via hands-on

Circuit Quality: D+

Circuit Quantity: D+

Magic: Nine Hand Seal Magecraft

Elemental Affinity: Fire

Profile

Background

Ritsuko mentions to Mash in Fuyuki Singulary Section 9 Part 1 that her real father disappeared on both her mother and her when she was a baby for reasons unknown. As such, it’s noted her mother has been raising her single-handedly by herself before remarrying Ritsuka’s father when she was 10.

At their first meeting, Ritsuko was completely horrified at Ritsuka’s body was completely frail with his bones visible in plain view, wearing a dead emotionless face that barely even respond to her when she first greeting him warmly. His family situation was only described to young Ritsuko when she asked was that Ritsuka’s father is doing everything it takes to ensure his mother will never come near him again, and will only explain to her when she grew older.

She mentioned though he was quiet, he was still receptive if not hesitant in answering to her. But after spending more time with his new sister, Ritsuka gained back not only his weight, but his ability to speak mainly to yell at her for being reckless in fighting against her bullies. Though at that time, Ritsuko chuckled she was unsure why she was crying while he apologized; whether it was the bullies, her brother scolded her, or the happiness she felt when she saw life in her brother’s eyes after months of wondering if the effort was futile to get closer to her new older brother.

Personality

On the surface, Ritsuko is fierce, independent, and pugnacious, but beneath her tough exterior, she possesses a strong loyalty toward her friends and duty as the Humanity’s last Master with her brother. She also has an admirable compassion and devotion, demonstrated when she expresses love toward things such as her family and friends. Unlike the calmer and reserved Ritsuka, Ritsuko is similarly quick witted and impulsive, especially in heated situations. And, she lacked perception towards her rash decisions often resulted in her accidentally insulting others.

Ritsuko is tough, impatient, headstrong, sarcastic, and assertive. Due to her crush on Mash, she tends to pull her away and shield her from others who showed interest in her. Like her brother, Ritsuko fully embraced her position as the Humanity’s Last Master, but lamenting her weakness how she isn’t calm and level-headed as her brother. A trait of Ritsuka she admires greatly when they were kids, as she’ll always be grateful during the times she was in near trouble. Mainly Ritsuka’s willingness and accepting of her secret towards her interest in woman, as she didn’t want her mother to know out of fear of disappointing her.

Because of this, Ritsuko also tends to be protective and even more so than her brother when it comes to his own well-being. Her mother never told anything about Ritsuka’s parents, except as she quoted:

“Mom said I was too young understand. Telling me Ritsuka’s mom did something really bad to him so Dad ensured his mom will never come close to meet Ritsuka again.”

As such, Ritsuko often keeps an eye on Ritsuka’s reaction whenever someone asks about his mom; ready to deflect or even pull him away at the uncomfortable situation.

Initially frightened and frozen with fear at Fuyuki Singularity, Ritsuko lamented with regret greatly how if her strength to save Mash from Artoria Alter’s Noble Phantasm could do the same for Olga Marie. But, she knew better she can’t wallow in grief, vowing to grow stronger and requested Emiya’s and Sadakuni’s aid to train her in combat and magecraft respectively.

Abilities

"Boomer-Dagger”

A pair of dagger crafted specially by Emiya after considering her skillset. It can be used for both physical combat and her magecraft. When thrown to her enemies, it returns to her via an invisible string connecting to her magic circuit. Also, it’s used as a placeholder on her talisman before conjuring her Nine Hand Seal Mudra Magecraft

Talisman

Her catalyst to invoke with her magecraft. Taught by Sadakuni, she needs to place it on her target before doing her Mudras to attack her opponent. Ritsuko often brings her mat of magic circle drawn by her blood to imbued powers into the talisman daily through meditation.

Onmyoudo Kuji-in aka Nine Hand Seals Magecraft

Taught by Section Chief Agano Sadakuni, Ritsuko mainly uses this magecraft for combat. This magecraft relies specifically on specific hand gesture and pattern to conjure her spells. From reinforcing her weapon and physical strength, to summoning fire magic for combat

Rin-Pyo-Toh, ready for battle: Enhancing her physical strength

Kai-Jin-Retsu, release: Conjure an explosion burst of flames

Jin-Pyo-Zai, bind: With ranged of 10 talisman connected by a burning magical rope to bind the target

Zai-Sha-Kai, heal: Transfer her mana for healing or empowering her Servant

Combat

Like her brother despite having slighter better circuits than him, Ritsuko sides along with her brother via physical combat. She often pairs with her brother, acting as a bait to go against the enemy, while Ritsuka pulls off a surprise ambush via his illusion magecraft.

In the face of an enemy Servant, Ritsuko steps back to give orders to the Servant she contracted with.

Role

While she treats Servants who are Kings or Queen with respect by their title, Ritsuko treats everyone equally with respect and as a friend. She’s shown to be more than willing to teach them about the modern technology and slang, also joining them in their crazy plans often resulted in chaotic humor, much to Ritsuka’s chagrin.

Like her brother, Ritsuko detested the idea of anyone treating Servants as tools or weapons as she view those who contracted her as their friend. This feeling also extend to her enemy Servant, believing they are living beings with their own free will and emotions.

While her brother generally supplies mana to their Servants, Ritsuko acts second-in-charge right after he finish mana transferring to their Servant which resulted him immobile and carried around by Emiya or Caster Cu Chulainn.

#fgo destiny awakenings #fujimaru ritsuka #fujimaru ritsuko

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ziracona · 3 years

Text

[The Kid – (FGO-adjacent AU) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, ?]

“Ready?”

I let out a slow breath and hold it halfway. “Go.”

We’ve practiced this to as near perfection as a person can. So many times it was exhausting without actually using my phantasm once at all.

Sure hope this works I think, watching the clock she moved over to the front wall with us. We’ve been through it, so careful, so thorough. I’m facing the window, just in case. Unless something goes really wrong, she’s activating her summon spell the second I fire, and my bullet won’t make it far enough through the air to hit the glass before its mana is consumed, but just in case, figured it was safer to not face a wall that has people anywhere past it.

Kid’s got sound barriers set up—she kept saying it was nothing, but that’s more magecraft than I’ve ever known, which is none, and pretty damn useful if you ask me, but aside from that and her summon circle on the ground, all we got to depend on for this to work is the good will of some spirit on the throne, and each other.

I can feel the flow of mana from her to me, the connection heightening, the strain on me as I try and summon enough from her to use Thunderer, the pain in my chest and shoulder amplifying exponentially. It’s okay though; I feel alive. Excited. Ready for this. We’ve got a plan, and we’re gonna make it work. I believe in it.

“It's time for a duel,” I say, hand at the ready by my hip, everything familiar and electric in the room around me. Behind me, I hear her incantation too, but I tune it out and focus on my part. She’ll be on pace; she’ll do what she has to, just right, and so will I. No matter how impossible or desperate, because we got to, and we know we can. “Go ahead,” I challenge the world itself, sure we’ll win, “You draw first. I’m faster.” I feel the flood of manna, everything about me amplified and wired and I can sense time slowed around me—no, I’m sped up, I’m on par with time itself, and my gun’s in my hands and leveled and my finger’s pulled the trigger as the word, “FIRE!” echoes from my lips.

Behind me, I feel a massive surge of energy ripping me backwards the moment my shot fires. It’s like a tide flowing out only to be dragged back in, but faster and harsher. She calls on the mana as I produce it and it is ripped away from me, just right, just perfect, exactly like we planned, and dear GOD, it hurts. I didn’t think it would, because usually using up your mana is about the only way you can die painlessly as a heroic spirit, but I realize as the source of the pain clicks as my shoulder, it’s not, it’s that I’m not healing, I’m falling apart, and it’s not the mana loss that hurts, it’s that it’s not healing me and I’m back to dying.

My gun clatters from my fingers and I drop with it painfully, no strength to stand. I can see my hands half transparent, crackling. I’m trying to dissolve. No; no no you don’t, I tell myself, biting down on the inside of my cheek, trying to focus. I forget everything but maintaining my form and channel what I have into it. Cut off my abilities, my ability to sense things, everything but keeping my spirit core intact.

“Billy!”

I hear her calling me. Try to turn my head the other direction so I can see her, and am able, just barely. She sounds ragged herself, and she looks it. Pouring sweat from what she just did, hands on her knees to keep herself up, but she’s looking at me, pale and overcome with worry.

“It’s okay,” I promise, trying not to laugh at the way my voice sounds like I’m about to die and how un-reassuring I must look in a heap on the floor, “I’m okay, just need to catch my breath.”

She believes me though, and I see relief on her face. She smiles. Then there’s worry. “Did we do—”

Something happens. She jerks, and her eyes widen, and then her eyes shut and her knees go out and I’m watching in shock as she collapses like I must have just done, onto the hotel room floor in a little heap.

“Ritsuka!” I call. She doesn’t move. What happened? What—she was fine! Just— What could have gone wrong? Why—

There’s someone there. I’m so barely holding on, I don’t sense them coming, but my eyes work just fine, and I see boots as they approach from the hallway, and I’ve found Thunderer and dragged myself to the side to have it leveled by the time he’s made his next step.

He stops when he hears the hammer click, and looks down at me. He’s tall, and even barely holding on, I know he’s a heroic spirit, not a human. He takes another step.

“Don’t!” I warn, gun still leveled.

“If you were going to shoot me, you should have done it when you had the element of surprise,” says the heroic spirit, surveying the room, not me, “You’re about to vanish, and you know even as a Gunner you’ve only got the mana for a shot or two, so you’d have to kill me or it would be over for your master and you, but you didn’t. You warned me.”

He takes another step which brings him almost to Ritsuka, and glances down at the little heap and tilts his head.

“Don’t hurt her,” I warn, struggling to push myself up onto an arm. He’s right, and I know it, but it doesn’t mean I won’t try. And I’m pretty sure I could get at least five shots off before I’m gone completely. But I haven’t yet because I’m hoping I won’t have to.

The spirit glances at me, then back at my master, and stoops. “Which means you must suspect I’m the spirit she just summoned.”

Oh thank God.

“You are?” I check, adrenaline slowing a little.

He puts a palm on her back and I tense, but he looks over and says, “Relax, Gunner. …She’s only fainted,” then adds, raising his hand again after a moment, “Trying to support two servants alone, I’m guessing she has a reason for something that stupid.” He looks at me again then. “Who are you?”

“You’re the spirit she summoned?” I ask again, because he hasn’t answered.

He seems almost amused by that, exhales, and gives a little gesture of acknowledgement with an arm. It’s only his word, but for the life of me I can’t think who else he’d be, and if he was anyone else, and meant either of us harm, he could have easily accomplished it already, so I believe him.

“Billy the Kid,” I answer his earlier question, “You?”

“An Archer,” he answers, turning his attention back to Ritsuka and sliding his hands under her back and legs to lift her up.

“Hey!” I say in disbelief, “That ain’t fair—I told you! We’re on the same side.”

He stands up with Ritsuka in his arms and gives me a disdainful look. “You didn’t have to answer, and you don’t need to know.”

The asshole! That’s just so rude. I’m kinda speechless though. I guess it doesn’t matter that much, because at least we got help, but damn.

Above me, the heroic spirit turns away with Ritsuka.

“Hey! Where are you going!” I call after him. I’m a little more solid, and I try to make it up, but stumble trying to make it past my knees.

“Relax,” he says, glancing back at me, “I’m only putting her on the bed. You seem awfully attached for-“ he starts in that same aloof, evaluating tone, and then Ritsuka shifts in his arms and groans.

As she moves her head up, the Archer glances down at her, and her hair slides out of her face and she opens bleary eyes and squints up at the face looking back down at her.

“Dad?” she asks in a raspy voice and the aloof air completely drops from the Archer’s face as it drains of some of its color and he gapes back at her with the wind knocked out of him, and suddenly I like him a lot more and am no longer really feeling threatened at all. He stares at her for a good three seconds before remembering to move.

He looks at me then, with that same almost cornered expression, and I’m a little thrown too, so I say, “What, are you?” without thinking that through, and that I think almost takes him out.

The guy still doesn’t answer though, he just stares back at the girl in his arms, then stuntedly resumes his walk towards the bed.

“Dad, where…” she tries, then her eyes slowly close again and she just shifts and nestles her face against the Archer’s shoulder. He does not look at me this time, and I finally make it to my feet and stagger over after them, using furniture to support me. I make it to the foot of the bed about the time he straightens up after setting her down.

When he straightens back up, he looks more like he did before, and the air of cockiness and ability is back up, but I ain’t forgot what I just saw, and I don’t mind it this time.

“Still not gonna give me a name?” I ask as I come up opposite him on the other side of the bed.

“You don’t need it,” he replies.

“Even if I promise not to bring that up again so long as you tell me?” I ask with a grin.

“Don’t,” he warns, but he sees the look on my face and I see him have to expend effort not to smile. He relaxes a little too. “So,” he says after a moment, exhaling and placing his hands at his waist, “Since our master isn’t up, do you want to tell me why I was summoned, Billy the Kid?”

“You oughta know,” I say casually, crossing my arms, “You answered her summon.”

He kind of stares past me into space for a second, and his brow furrows. “…I did,” he says, like he somehow wasn’t aware until just now. “Entry was a little bumpy,” he offers me by way of explanation, glancing back over, “Unless I’m still lacking information, though, all she asked for was someone to help who knew magecraft, because there was a threat all of us on the throne, and her.”

“Yeah, why are you an Archer?” I ask.

“Sorry you didn’t get the Caster you were hoping for,” he says, waving a hand carelessly, “But I was a mage before I was this, so I should do.”

“Oh, perfect!” I say, meaning it, “I get along better with Archers anyway, and your Independent Action is gonna help a lot with both of us hangin’ on by a thread.”

“I’ll say,” he agrees, glancing back down at Ritsuka, “Although it’s more amazing she’s actually maintaining both of our forms alone, without support.”

“She’s okay?” I check.

He gives a nod. “Fainted, probably from the strain of suddenly expending a massive amount of energy, but she’s adjusting surprisingly fast.” He gestures, and I see he’s right. She’s already stopped sweating, and her face is almost its original color again.

Good. I was worried there for a second, but she’s quite the gal.

“I’ll wait till she’s up to give you the full run-down,” I say, circling back, “But the short is we got a group of Mages who got the idea it would be economical to use our manifestations’ connection to our Saint Graphs on the throne as a sort of battery, by trapping us on the edge of death based on how we died in life, so we’re too weak to run off or fight them.”

“Fucking Mages,” he sighs, not remotely surprised, because honestly—yeah.

“Weren’t you a mage?” I say with a grin.

“And?” he challenges.

I give him a friendly nod. “Fucking Mages,” I agree happily.

“How bad?” asks the Archer, “How many of us?”

I shake my head. “Not sure. I was their first.” I gesture to my shoulder. “Supposedly anyway. But could be a number of us back at the place, or none. Regardless, they got their research, and there will be more if there aren’t already, unless we wipe it clean.”

He gives a nod, and gestures at Ritsuka. “And her?”

“Your daughter?” I ask.

“Gunner,” he says exhaustedly, rubbing a hand across his face.

“She’s just a kid,” I answer happily, “Was in the same building for research they were conducting, and found out what was goin’ on, didn’t like it, and busted me out.”

“Really,” he says, glancing at me, then studying her, impressed, I think.

“I know,” I say, “Last thing I’d expect from a mage, even a little one, but she’s sincere. Don’t know a whole lot of magecraft, but apparently she’s got a manna supply big enough to support she said twelve of us at once.”

“Wait, are you serious?” asks the Archer, losing his cool façade again for a second.

I give a nod, grinning, “I know, right? That’s why she was there—little mage anomaly.”

“No wonder you thought this wasn’t a terrible idea,” says the Archer, looking back at her, “And you called in another one of us because she was having trouble healing you fast enough to hit them back?”

He’s quick. I nod. “Me and any forces we pick up on the way if they got more of us-“

“—because anyone they have would be closer to disappearing than you are,” he finishes, nodding slowly.

“Can you help?” I ask.

He rubs the back of his neck, thinking, but not about that I think. “I can, though-“

Below us, Ritsuka groans and shifts on the bed, and we stop talking as she blinks and then opens her eyes. It takes about half a second for her amber irises to clear, and then she bolts upright like she did before, completely awake, and I grin at the familiar sight.

“Whoa! –Billy! –Uh,” she bounces from one to another of us with her gaze, then settles on the Archer, mouth a little open. “Oh,” she says in a very small voice, “Hi.”

He gives her a nod of acknowledgement.

“Did I summon you?” she checks.

He tries not to smile in a way that makes me think he found that way funnier than I’d expect for some reason. Like it’s a familiar sight to him too somehow.

“You did,” he answers, keeping a straight face, “Archer class, at your service.”

“An Archer?” she asks, looking from him to me.

“I know you were expecting a Caster,” says the Archer with great self-assurance, “But I can assure you I can do what you need.”

“He was a mage before an Archer, back when he was alive,” I tell her, “—An Archer’s way better anyway. They’re easier to supply mana to, for one thing, and they’re usually a lot easier to get along with.” I’m definitely partial a little because it’s my own secondary class, but I’m also not wrong. Lots of personality types seem to crop up a bunch for specific classes, and Archers are mostly easy to get along with—for me, anyway, but I figure since Ritsuka seems real up my alley, she’ll probably get along pretty good with ‘em too.

“Oh,” she says, absorbing that, “Well, nice to meet you,” she turns back to the Archer and offers him a hand to shake, “I’m Ritsuka Fujimaru. Thank you for answering my call; I really appreciate it. I need you, so thank you for coming to help.”

He seems a little taken aback by that and hesitates a moment before smiling in a different, much more genuine way, and taking her hand. “Of course. Good to meet you, Master. I’m sure I’ll be of use.”

“—Oh, please don’t call me that,” she hurries, flushing.

He furrows his brow. It’s fun to watch this happen to someone else, mostly because it makes me feel connected. We don’t get to socialize on the throne—it’s like being frozen while you wait to be sent out, sort of, so we don’t get to spend time with other Heroic Spirits outside of summons, and at least half the time, we forget everything that happened to us while summoned once it’s over, so. Our lives are barely something you can call a life, the way the Throne makes us exist, and even with our own kind, we don’t get to have much in the way of real relationships. Even if you get lucky enough to partner up with another spirit for a while on a summon, it’d be a rare thing to have enough down time to get to talk to them about anything like what being stuck as one of us after death is like, or how we feel about it. We all kind of know, sure, but, it would be nice to get to talk to someone else about it sometimes. And I see him having a lot of the same thoughts I did, and it’s nice, because I don’t just think the way I feel about what happens to me is probably about the same to a lot of us, I get to see it is.

“Master, I mean,” adds Ritsuka, still holding his hand, “I don’t want to be that. –I-I know that’s what Mages all call themselves when they summon one of you, and they usually call you Servants, but it seems wrong, and I don’t like it. I mean, you’re all some kind of hero or great warrior or artist, and I’m just a mage, and either way, we’re both people, and you were nice enough to come when I asked for help. I don’t want you to feel like I think you have to, or like I’m going to try and push you around. I’m just lucky to have you here to help.”

His expression changes, surprised and I think touched, because it’s a soft expression, and he smiles. I haven’t seen him give completely real smile before, and it makes him almost look like a different person, a younger, less hardened one. “I see, Miss Fujimaru. That’s an unusual way for a Mage to choose to act, but I think I understand it. I’ve felt the same way before myself. What would you have me call you, then?”

“Uhm, --oh, Ritsuka is just fine,” she says, reassured by his response and happy with it, “You don’t have to call me Miss Fujimaru either.”

“Ritsuka,” he agrees with a nod of I think respect, which I also don’t think this Archer gives just anyone, and certainly not this fast, “I’m an Archer class servant, but I ought to be able to help you with your magecraft as well. I go by Nameless.”

Oh, so you’re just gonna tell her before she even asks you? I think without any real vitriol because I can’t blame him one bit, the way she is.

“You don’t have a real name?” she asks, like it makes her sad.

“I do, but I don’t use it anymore,” he replies, straightening a little.

“What was it, if it’s okay to ask,” says Ritsuka, “I’d rather call you your real name than ‘Nameless,’ unless you hate it or something.”

“…Emiya,” he offers her after a moment of relaxed contemplation. She seems to have gotten him to drop his guard a lot in about one minute.

Emiya I think, running that through my head. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before, and it doesn’t ring a bell either. I have no idea what heroic spirit that would be, which is weird. That’s a family name, so maybe I’d remember if I heard the whole thing, but I kind of just think we’ve never met.

“First name?” she asks.

“I prefer my surname,” he replies, “Though just Archer is even more optimal.”

“Oh,” she says, I think not sure why he won’t tell her, but respecting his choice, “Well, it’s good to meet you, Emiya. Thank you again for answering my call. Uhm.” She glances down at herself, then over at me. “You’re okay now?”

I give a nod. “Right as rain.”

She smiles, then turns back to Emiya. “I guess I passed out for a minute. Did Billy tell you anything?”

“He gave me the gist of your situation,” replies Emiya, “But no details about the group beyond what they’re doing.”

“Okay,” she says, zeroing right back in on mission mode incredibly fast, “I’ll catch you up, then! –Oh, you are okay helping us, right? Since you came? –You want to, I mean?”

He seems incredibly bemused, and smiles at her again. “Yes, I believe you weren’t actually overselling it when you said all of us on the Throne would have a vested interest in stopping this from happening when you called for a spirit. I’m here to assist you.”

“Great,” she beams, “Okay—I’ll go grab the papers and map, and –oh—do you want anything to eat or drink?”

His eyebrows raise. I keep hoping he’ll look at me, and he feels my gaze finally and glances over at me and I give him a I know, right? grin, and he struggles not to smile back. I can tell he very much gets it. Some kind of a Master. Or, not a Master, by choice, I suppose. Some kind of a mage.

“Thank you,” he says, “I’ll accept whatever you’ve got.”

She hops up out of the bed, seemingly totally recovered now, and hurries off towards the kitchenette, and he goes after her, saying, “But tell me; you were hoping for someone to help you with your magecraft, and I understand the general situation, but what is the issue specifically you’re hoping for help with?”

“Oh,” she says, pausing for a second. She loses a little enthusiasm to embarrassment, but pushes on, “Uh. Well, I have enough mana to actually support several servants—”

“Your Gunner informed me,” says the Archer.

“-Oh, okay. Well, I do, so I should be able to keep anybody Ur-shanabi—sorry—that’s the group who’re doing this—or did he tell you that already-?” He’s shaking his head, so she keeps going. “Uh, okay, so, I should be able to keep any heroic spirits there from vanishing, but I need to be able to heal them. And, I can’t. I couldn’t heal Billy. Except really, really slowly.” She looks down at her shoes. “And I should be able to. I know mages always do that, for spirits they summon.”

“I see,” says the Archer, taking all of that in stride with surprising ease, like some of it is familiar to him almost. He considers. “Is it alright with you if I check your circuits?”

“Huh?” says Ritsuka.

I pretty much trust this guy, based on my intuition and how he’s acted, but I edge a little closer, just in case. Feel like it’s my job, after everything.

Emiya holds up a hand. “I specialize in tracing the structure of things and understanding how they work. If it’s alright, I can easily see if there’s any issue with your circuits themselves. If there is, I can probably help you fix it. If not, it should give me a good idea of what to do.”

“Oh—of course, then,” she says excitedly, trusting him entirely immediately, “Go ahead. Do I just stand still?”

He gives a nod. She does, squaring her shoulders and her stance, and he places his palm against her shoulder, whispering something I don’t quite catch. I feel a little surge of mana, and she jerks a little but not the way you do when something hurts—more the way you do if you touch unexpectedly but not painfully cold water—then holds still again. I’m curious, because I really don’t know much about magecraft at all and never have, so I get closer and watch. The Archer registers that, but he stays focused, brown knit, and eyes scanning things I cant see. Little blue-green crackles of light appear in geometric patterns along her skin for a moment which is almost alarming, but they’re gone just as fast, and he straightens up.

Ritsuka looks up at him questioningly.

“You really are connected to an almost unbelievable supply of mana,” says Emiya like he still can’t quite believe it, “Unfortunately, you don’t have magical circuits designed for utilizing it. Unfortunately might be a poor choice of words though, because being human, if you did, you’d probably kill yourself using it. You do have a good structure of magical circuits, though, and there’s nothing wrong with them, they’re just mostly unactivated. You never received formal training?”

“Not any training at all, really—well, my mom and dad taught me a little, but, only small stuff,” says Rituska, holding up a hand and squeezing her fist open and closed curiously like she’s trying to visualize what he’s describing.

He gives a kind of affirmative Hm sound of a that makes sense variety. “I can show you how to activate them,” says the Archer.

“Really?!” asks Ritsuka excitedly, “Just like that?”

Emiya gives a nod. “It won’t exactly be ‘just like that,’ though. It takes time to learn magecraft, like any skill. Building magical circuit ability for practical use is a bit like building muscle. It takes time, and overuse will damage your body. I can show you how to activate them period, but once you have, it will take practice before you can use your mana for anything complicated.”

“That’s okay,” she says, completely happy, “I just need to have enough I can give you magical energy to heal.”

“Well then,” he says, “I think I can fix your problem.”

#fate go #fate go fic #fate go au #fate go au fic #fate #fate fic #fate grand order #billy the kid #fate billy the kid #fgo billy the kid #ritsuka fujimaru #heroic spirit Emiya #emiya archer #fate Emiya #I love this because I don't even proof it I just write it for me and post it like god intended it's exhausting to write except for fun #shirou emiya #writing #The Kid (fic)#The Kid #someday I'll post this on AO3 but it won't be today I'm very tired of people expecting me to spell like man u don't know how much work it #takes I'm adhd and have dyslexia it's not a combination for spelling I just want to vibe not get a NYT review on my passtime I'm here for #providing me and anyone else who likes what I make happiness not a jury panel I just love and have a lot of feelings #and want to write for characters I love and bring cool scenarios the muses send me to life #originally I went back and added the link to new parts to every past part but that's gonna start taking 1 million years so now I'm only #linking new parts from the part directly before it (but all previous parts go on all new instalments) bc I think this makes sense

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elisende · 4 years

Text

Songs in the Night (3/?)

Characters: Halsin/OMC, Astarion, Wyll, Gale

Rating: M

Words: 1627

Summary: Halsin and Langoth fight for their lives--and souls--on the fugue plane while in the Underdark Gale struggles to complete the ritual to bring them back to life.

They had only to persevere long enough for revival. To clasp hands at the precise moment the last words were spoken on the material plane.

But in the shadow of the dragon’s enormous form, blasted by the heat that radiated from its black sides as though from a blazing furnace, that seemed nigh impossible.

“Behind me,” Halsin said to the ranger, grimacing against the dragon’s roar. Instead, Langoth stood beside him, drawing his bow. Although his longsword and dagger had not survived the fatal journey between planes, his ironwood bow was imbued with deep magic and a brother’s love and had traveled with the soul of its owner to this purgatory. Seeing it in his hands gave him heart.

Langoth loosed an arrow at the ancient styx dragon’s neck; it merely plinked off its armored scales.

The dragon seemed to chuckle, exhaling plumes of flame with its laughter. Your spirits will make a meager meal but there is rich entertainment in watching you struggle, at least, said the dragon. It raised one clawed foot, blotting out the grey sky and Halsin dove, a line of white hot fire screaming across the back of his leg where the dragon’s spur caught his flesh. He yelled as its poison sank into muscle--his soul, in fact, for in this plane, body and soul were one.

The pain was vivid. Halsin opened himself to it, allowed it to sharpen his focus and turned back to the dragon. There was no weakness he could perceive, no gap in the undulant ranks of its black scales. But every dragon was tender around the muzzle and this one had foolishly lowered his, the better to watch him suffer. Halsin screamed again for effect, clutching his leg and the dragon sank even lower, its face in striking range. Marshaling all of his strength, Halsin drew the club from his back and threw it like a javelin into the dragon’s nose. It struck true, showering him a waterfall of hot, black blood, like tar.

The creature’s tortured shriek was terrible as it echoed across their minds. Halsin staggered over to Langoth, both his wound and his head on fire.

“When the time comes--whatever else should happen,” Halsin said, “You must take my hand.”

Before Langoth could reply, the dragon was upon them again. It was no longer toying with them: now it was out for blood. Only luck saved Halsin from being cut in two as he dove away--this time the dragon’s claws sliced through empty air.

How much longer? Langoth asked. He wove and tumbled around the dragon’s legs, avoiding its swiping claws with limber grace that might be a dance but for the raging dragon above them.

The monster busy with Langoth, Halsin ignored the throbbing pain in his leg and closed his eyes for a moment to test the link he’d left to the plane where their bodies lay, lifeless.

...was a mad idea, what if they don’t come back at all? Across the planes, Astarion’s voice was watery and hollow, as though he were speaking from the other end of a very long sea cave.

Master Halsin’s nearly past the point of no return, looks like, Wyll said. Hells, what’s that on his leg?

Gale’s voice echoed more forcefully in Halsin’s mind. Less commentary, if you please, this does require a bit of focus, you know--Halsin, is that you? Is it time?

Almost, he thought, Be ready. He felt the wizard’s assent and turned back to the fray. Langoth had sunk an ice arrow into the dragon’s nostril and it was trying to scratch it away, howling from its sting.

Halsin dashed over to the ranger, avoiding the sweep of the dragon’s tail as it staggered and bellowed in blind rage. They would just have to hope the distraction lasted long enough to complete the ritual. Langoth looked shaken but unhurt, his keen eyes watchful. Even as the dragon roared above them, Halsin felt a surge of love, of humility in the face of its enormity: greater than any ancient guardian of the Fugue Plane, greater even than death. “It’s time,” he said. Their hands joined and he reached across the void again, to Gale.

What if it’s too late? Langoth said. He sensed the ranger’s despair.

“Just don’t let go. No matter what happens.”

In answer, Langoth interlaced his fingers and squeezed them tight. The druid shut his eyes and perceived, worlds away, Gale whispering the incantations that would bring their souls back.

Halsin, Langoth’s voice rang in his mind, sharp with fear.

He opened his eyes to see the dragon bearing down on them, its mouth open, throat welling with blue fire.

“Don’t let go,” Halsin said, even as every instinct screamed at him to break away, to dive to safety. Langoth gripped his hand so hard he feared his bones would bruise.

The styx dragon bore down on them, a gout of flame shooting from its maw. Halsin closed his eyes again. The ritual was nearly complete--a few words away, if Gale did not stumble.

I need to tell you something, Langoth said. While there’s time. I--

But before he could finish, darkness took them both.

“...breathing, that has to be a good sign, surely?”

Dim, green light danced around him. Langoth moaned and shut his eyes again. Cold, he was so cold. Everything from his waist up was agony: pain that throbbed, ached, stung, burned, and stabbed. From the waist down, all was numb.

“Langoth,” Wyll said. He heard the warlock approach but couldn’t bear to open his eyes again. His voice sounded distant. “Hells, he’s properly torn up. Here, give us that potion.”

A hand cradled his head, tipped it back, and another held a phial of healing potion to his bloodied lips. It slid down his throat and he sighed as it took effect, restoring life to his stiff limbs. A sickening crunch as his spine reknit itself and sensation rushed back to his legs. He shivered. It felt as though he’d never be warm again.

“Halsin,” he said, remembering. The fugue plane, the dragon, the blue flames--he struggled to his hands and knees and collapsed with a groan.

“It’s alright, mate. Halsin is just there, look.” Wyll pointed to the other corner of the courtyard, where the druid was staggering to his feet, shaking his thick mane of hair and rubbing his face. Langoth sank back down in relief. They had made it, somehow.

“I’m fine too,” Astarion said. “If you were wondering. I also nearly died, on your behalf. Again.”

“Thank the gods,” Langoth rasped with a smile. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply--real air, again. Even though it was centuries stale and stank of fungus and dead minotaur, there was no sweeter smell.

“Actually, thank Gale,” the wizard said, approaching with Halsin by his side. “It was a very near thing, indeed. Suppose I owed you for all the times you’ve pulled me back from death’s door.”

The druid leaned over him and took Langoth’s icy hands between his own. “Thank you,” Langoth whispered.

Halsin laid a hand on his chest. “Don’t speak. You need food. Your soul has been too long in Kelemvor’s kingdom and needs to be fully restored.”

“And nothing better for that than a nice warming mug of soup,” Gale said. “I would know. I shall see to it.”

An arm around Halsin’s waist, Langoth limped past the minotaur corpses laid out on blood slick flagstones to sit in the fort’s cozy refectory by the fire that Gale had set roaring with a cantrip.

“Rest here,” Halsin said, helping into a dusty leather chair which was surprisingly comfortable, considering its age. “But don’t sleep yet. Your soul’s connection to your body is still too tenuous.”

“Stay with me?” he asked. Their eyes met and warmth spread through him; heat not just from the roaring fire. Gale busied himself nearby with the cooking, humming tunefully as he banged pots and spoons and asking Astarion if he might use his dagger to mince the garlic.

Halsin eased down beside Langoth on a rickety bench, favoring one leg.

“The dragon?” It still hurt to speak.

Halsin nodded, wincing as he settled onto the bench. “It will mend, in time.”

“Did I hear the word dragon?” Wyll said. “I think that might be next on my list, having taken down a minotaur single handedly.”

Astarion shot him an acid look from across the room.

“Well, almost single handedly. Alright, you lot all helped.”

“Your magnanimity, Wyll, is as ever, inspirational,” Gale said, magicking a stream of hot water into the cookpot.

Langoth laughed, and felt a little warmer still. It was good, he reflected, to be alive. The heady scent of garlic and onions sizzling over the fire reached his nose and his stomach growled.

“Well, our foray into the Underdark is off to a wonderful start,” Astarion said from the shadows. “I just can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings. Perhaps decapitation?” He met Langoth’s eye.

“Stop sulking in the corner, Astarion,” Langoth said. “We survived, didn’t we?”

The vampire spawn scoffed but he approached and even sat on the bench with Halsin. At the opposite end, but it was a start.

“Mad idea, coming down here,” Astarion said, looking moodily into the fire. He turned to Langoth and with unexpected emotion said, “We almost lost you.”

“Well, you didn’t,” Langoth said. “And we will make it to Moonrise Towers.”

He did not fail to observe the expression of foreboding on Halsin’s weathered features. He’d never seen the druid look so tired. Again, he perceived there was something he was holding back, some unspoken burden he carried. Langoth took his hand but he only patted it absently, staring into the dark.

#halsin #bg3 halsin #fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #halsin/omc #langoth #baldur's gate gale #wyll #astarion

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kathyprior4200 · 4 years

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Entertainment in Inferno! (Alastor Enters Hell)

Part 1: “Alastor enters Hell” 1933

Hell: 1933

Black empty space.

Complete silence.

He felt like he was floating in some kind of void. Where he was, he didn’t know.

He had no form, no physical sensations of any kind.

For a moment he just…was.

A small white light emerged from the dark above, and steadily grew. Though it was blinding, the light didn’t bother him.

“Alastor…Alastor…”

A choir of vocals were speaking the repeated word in the distance. The voices grew louder as he felt himself rising upward. The word felt comforting to him, and sounded strangely familiar.

“Alastor…”

He suddenly stopped and saw a golden gate up ahead within white clouds. A winged figure puffed up his white wings and stared at him.

“I am Puriel,” the angel said. He had a white face with red blotches on his cheeks, yellow eyes and short bronze gold hair. He was dressed in white dress pants, a white shirt, a golden bowtie, and matching shoes.

“I am an examiner of souls and one of many who determine where one goes in the afterlife.”

He spoke an incantation.

“Alastor Roscoe Duvalier,” Puriel stated. “Here is your previous form.”

Alastor gasped as he suddenly remembered his name. A flood of memories of his past life rushed back to him.

Alastor stared down at himself and saw his human reflection in front of him. A thin man with a pointed chin stared back at him with chocolate brown eyes and small round glasses. His skin was a very light brown, looking almost white. His hair color was in-between brown and red, short with a bit of a wave pointing to one side. The longest parts of his hair were slightly past his ears, reaching toward his chin.

A large black bowtie was positioned below his neck. His undershirt was white with buttons and crisscrossing lines forming a few diamonds. The design resembled the structure of a radio tower. Along with tan pants and brown boots, he wore a candy red pinstriped coat with dark red stripes going vertically down toward his waist.

What was disturbing about his reflection was a small red x on his forehead between his eyes that seemed to be glowing. His clothes were stained with blood as was the side of his face.

Alastor sprouted a large grin and instantly felt better. He said his name out loud, surprised to hear his voice.

The angel in front of him continued. “Alastor Roscoe Duvalier, born in New Orleans to French American Joseph Duvalier and Creole American Loretta Duvalier. Entered Earth January 24th, 1896 at 3:00AM. Died in 1933 in the woods via a gunshot to the head and mauling by dogs.”

A brief flashback of him running from the police, trying to hide in the woods. Hearing the growling of canines and being surrounded by sharp teeth. A loud gunshot and an exploding pain through his head. Briefly seeing a buck in the distance before things went black.

Puriel looked through an endless holographic list of souls. He turned to Alastor with a glare.

“Due to the endless number of people you killed, you are not fit to enter Heaven. You are to either enter Hell, purgatory, Tartarus…” he listed off dark places from other cultures…

“…or go back to the endless void, as those who die a second death are fated to go.”

Alastor could feel a strange sensation, like someone, or something was tugging at his chest. It seemed to come from far below. He suddenly felt the need to follow it.

Having read his mind, Puriel nodded, a look of disgust on his face. “Your fate has been decided. Suffering and death will be there to meet you, unless you can somehow redeem yourself. Farewell.”

The angel and the golden gate vanished, the darkness filling in again. Like the sudden drop of a roller coaster, Alastor felt himself plummeting rapidly down through the dark.

He literally screamed into the void.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He thought he briefly saw a familiar blue and green planet out in space, but everything rushed by too quickly for him to comprehend.

Breaking through dark ground, falling further into hot magma, uncomfortable heat that was even hotter than the sun…

Falling ever so endlessly, until he rushed through an opening portal in a crimson sky, the rim surrounded by flames.

Down below, a group of little red skinned imps were forcing enchanted voodoo dolls made of straw to dance on hot coals. Red glowing chains held the dolls in place around their necks, the magic coming from the lead imp’s claws. The lead imp cackled, wearing ringmaster’s clothing and a round hat while the other imps jeered. A few demons watched the show from a distance. Several circus tents were lined nearby. The lead imp looked up in horror as the yelling figure fell down…and crushed him, creating a giant crater in the ground. The chains disappeared and the dolls cheered. They jumped over the coals and chased away their tormentors with sizzling silver pins.

The imp and Alastor fell through another portal, this time into a dark void. Alastor landed hard on his back despite no visible structure being there. He coughed and slowly stood up, brushing off dirt and ash from his hair and clothes. The imp rubbed his long horns in pain and stood up too. The imp glared at Alastor, baring his fangs, but was quickly held into place via black tentacles pinning down his arms and legs. The imp yelled before being consumed by rows of sharp white teeth that appeared in the dark.

Alastor remained perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. (Not that he really could, anymore.) The black space was nothing like the silent void of death. In fact, it was more like an ocean of dark matter, humid heat and…

…things that were alive.

Shadow spirits ebbed and flowed through the endless space, some with glowing white eyes, others with horns, all of them blending in within the dark. Shrieks, moans, and the occasional cackle filled the air.

“Hello darkness, my old friend,” Alastor spoke to himself.

“Hello to you as well,” said a voice from behind him.

Alastor spun around and only saw darkness.

“Who’s there?”

“Over here,” said the voice, in a distorted eerie tone.

He looked to the side and nearly gasped. Surrounded by an aura of red was a shadow of what looked like a skeletal humanoid deer. The figure stood upright with large white holes for eyes and sharp teeth inside its mouth. A pair of large antlers sat around shadow deer ears and a mess of hair. A claw with four fingers gripped Alastor’s shoulders.

“Who are you?” Alastor asked.

The being morphed until it was a black copy of him.

“I am you,” the shadow replied. “You may call me… Rotsala. I was born from your deepest nightmares, nestled in your subconscious. All of your evil thoughts, your fear, your rage…and your desire for vengeance. Those thoughts nourished me. Every kill you made on Earth brought you one step closer to not only death, but also to the underground Loas, and myself. Once you died, I was born with this shadow vessel, and separated from your mind. I traveled down here, to my home, knowing you would come. Now we are reunited at last.”

“But you’re not a part of me anymore,” Alastor said.

“Yes and no,” the shadow said. “Though I have my own body, I am still a reflection of your true feelings, your true motivations. So, naturally, once we get to Hell I’ll be your…guide, as it were.”

“But we can’t go back to Hell. Aren’t we stuck down here?”

“Not for long,” said the shadow. He pointed down to Alastor’s arm. Alastor looked and saw three glowing red voodoo symbols etched onto it in blood.

Alastor could sense other ancient beings moving closer to him, speaking in ghostly whispers.

The shadow continued, “Your debt to the Loas and specifically to Lord Kalfu has been paid. A sacrifice of loved ones in addition to your own gruesome death…bestows upon you, neigh unlimited power.”

It all happened before Alastor had the chance to blink. Shadow creatures rapidly circled around him and black tentacles enveloped his entire body like a macabre cocoon. Alastor yelled as his human skin cracked, and peeled off his body in fleshy chunks, which soon faded into dust. Muscle and bone also disintegrated rapidly. Surprisingly, it wasn’t agonizing. It was more like the natural process of a snake shedding its old skin to make way for something new.

He felt formless, naked and cold, but soon warmed up as new flesh formed where his old exterior shell once was.

His new skin and face were grayish in color. Empty dark sockets took up much of his face, the home of his new demonic red eyes. Soon, other body features formed: thin gray arms, legs, four fingered hands and four-toed feet…an anatomy of a male human, though definitely not human at all.

Alastor opened his mouth and sharp yellow fangs slowly emerged from the top and bottom. They closed together to form a wide sinister smile.

Thick red hair grew on Alastor’s head, pointing out in a slight wave toward the right like his previous human form. Tuffs of hair ending slightly past his chin on either side completed the look, ending with black colored tips. Instead of round earlobes, thick fluffy deer-shaped ears grew from the sides of his head, ending in black furry tips. In addition, small black antlers stuck out in the middle of his head, along with a fluffy black and red deer tail that appeared near his tailbone.

Alastor waved his hand in front of his right eye, and an old fashioned monocle appeared under it, connected by a thin chain. A burgundy pinstriped dress coat and a red undershirt materialized and covered his body. The ends of the coat were filled with several holes, giving it a tattered feel. An upside down black cross lay under a large black bowtie in place under his chin and neck. He wore the same color pants, plus black shoes with red deer hoof prints on the soles. Black gloves with red tips covered his four-clawed hands.

With his new form complete, the tentacles released Alastor and parted away.

Tingling hot red electricity spread into his head, then moved down his body, much of it resting in his hands and fingers. He snapped on instinct and a burst of red magic sparked to life like a firework.

Then knowledge of magic and voodoo spells entered into his brain. The new information faded into the back of his head, staying there like he had it within him all his life.

“HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!”

Alastor let out a maniacal laugh that rose higher into hysterical giggles. All this supernatural power was coursing through his veins, and he loved every second of it.

Finally the magic quietly faded with a humming sound.

Two shadow demon figures approached with silent steps, eyes glowing red. Alastor could barely make out their forms in the blackness.

“One more thing,” said the shadow. “Demons make deals down here in Hell, and they are not to be taken lightly. These two are friends of mine. They are a few of the representatives of this world below Hell.”

The shadow creatures morphed into two alternate versions of Alastor. The one to the left had a red deer head with large antlers, radio dials for eyes and a dark blue suit. The other one had an old fashioned radio for a head, and wore a red suit with a black tie with crisscross lines on it like those of a radio tower.

“These two have taken forms suitable to your liking. They were the main ones who helped transform you…you may call them by their pseudonyms Cerf and Muse.”

The two shadows turned men awkwardly waved, feeling out of place in their temporary demon costumes.

“Since they used all their effort to craft you a suitable body to enter Hell…it only seems fitting that you could help them out as well.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. There was more to this. “A proposal?”

The shadow nodded. “Give some of your newfound power to them and a connection will be forged between you and my brethren. You will be able to summon imps, shadow spirits and even the darkest creatures of the underworld with just a snap of your fingers. Cerf and Muse can serve as your bodyguards.”

Cerf walked forward. “I will give you animal instincts like sharp hearing and fast reflexes.”

Muse elbowed Cerf’s side and pushed forward. “I can give you something even better…your own personal weapon!”

Alastor was intrigued. “What is it?”

Muse smirked and wagged his claw, “You’ll have to agree to the deal if you want to find out!”

Alastor kept his smile on his face, standing proud in the face of uncertainty and risk. “And what’s in it for you?”

Alastor’s shadow grinned. “Why, your power, of course! Your sins on Earth coupled with your granted powers have made you, perhaps the most powerful demon yet to be. It would be quite useful for us in the long run.”

“Yes, yes,” said Cerf, “You know, ‘cause we want to eventually be free to roam Hell…and feast on delicious souls…havoc on the house!”

Muse elbowed him hard and flashed a warning.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Idiot,” he muttered.

“Aw come on,” said Cerf. “We worked for that Dr. Facilier not too long ago, remember? His soul’s still in Hell and he still has his Eldritch powers. This guy can’t be that bad.”

Alastor grinned, getting an idea. “Hmm…how much power do you want from me?”

“50%,” said the shadow.

Alastor scoffed. “Ha! No. Way too much. After all that effort in giving it to me? No. I won’t relent that easily.”

“Well…if you don’t take the deal, we could always take some away…”

Alastor leaned in close and sneered, “Then I guess I’d be left with fighting myself for eternity then. I think we both know that it would get boring fast.”

The shadow nodded after a pause. “Touche. How about 30%?”

“Still too much. I could give you a wealthy 1%.”

“It’s gotta be above a single digit, or the exchange is off,” said the shadow. “25%.”

“Nonono. How about 10%. You tell me where I can find this Facilier guy…make him my slave…it’ll be all yours.”

Alastor’s shadow held out his hand, the other creatures looking on eagerly. “So, do we have a deal?”

Alastor grinned and put his hand into the shadowy digit. Green electricity sparked as they shook.

Cerf and Muse spiraled around him in circles. Cerf vanished into Alastor’s ears, awakening his senses. Muse turned into shadow once more…and began to change shape. The shadow transformed and Alastor felt something appear in his right hand.

It was an old red vintage microphone staff. A glowing red eye appeared on the top, just below where the speaker was.

“About time you sealed that surreal deal,” came a voice from the device. It was a male voice with a radio filter over it. It sounded like an announcer on a broadcast.

“So this is my new weapon and accessory you were talking about.” Alastor said.

“Yes indeed,” the microphone replied. “Just turn me on and you can broadcast what’s going on around you, anytime, anywhere. I should say…your desire and love for telling dad jokes…I’ll help you go overboard with it.”

Alastor grinned again. He was already enjoying this opportunity.

“Enjoy yourself while you can, Radio Star,” said his shadow before disappearing behind him.

The microphone muttered something about already feeling trapped but Alastor didn’t listen.

He was already planning his next move.

“What am I waiting for?!” he asked out loud. He concentrated on the space in front of him and a portal opened back to Hell. He stepped through it and it closed behind him.

This would be the beginning of Alastor’s many conquests of Hell…and his new title of The Radio Demon.

The very first attack occurred in a dark forest in the moonlight (if there were even moons in Hell). Alastor discovered that when he concentrated and waved his hands over the ground, he could summon tentacles, shadow spirits and even voodoo imps from below.

If he was going to take over this peculiar place called Hell and be entertained, at least he would have help.

The demonic deer could hear the patter of footsteps and hid in the shadows, behind an old tree. Moving his head sideways, he peered to get a better look. Walking on the trail were two skeletal deer walking on two hooves. One of them was smoking a cigarette and the other was talking about “borrowing” coins from his ex-girlfriend. Behind them was a black minotaur in jeans and overalls. The first deer carelessly threw his used cigarette on the ground.

Alastor stared at it and the path ahead, getting an idea.

He picked up a rock and threw it in the distance. It crashed hard into the ground, causing the area to shake.

The two deer froze at the explosive noise and turned their heads around.

“What was that?” one asked.

“I didn’t hear nothin’,” said the second.

“You boneheads be hearin’ things,” growled the minotaur. He unzipped his backpack and took out an axe. He swiped several times in front of him, causing the deer to duck. “I pay you to protect me. Your job’s to cut down these trees for wood. Our saloon’s not gonna warm itself up in the winter ya, know.”

He kicked one of the deer with his hoof, sending the creature forward in a pile of bones. “Hurry up, now!”

The deer got up and continued forward. Alastor stretched out his hand and a black tendril snaked in front of the path. Invisible and silent, the deer didn’t notice it until they tripped over it.

“Aurgh!” they yelled, face planting in the dirt.

“You’re good for nothin’ but shit!” chided the angry minotaur. “Get your fat bony asses up before…”

FWOOOSH!

The lone cigarette erupted into flames from behind them.

“Before…that happens?” asked one of the deer, pointing behind the minotaur.

The flames moved rapidly through the dried wood. The deer rattled as they ran but were blocked as sparks ignited in front of them, with a snap of Alastor’s fingers. The barrier of fire blocked their path. Soon, the trio of sinners were surrounded by the flames.

“Now what?” asked one of the deer.

“Run through it, imbecile!” yelled the minotaur. “Or you’ll be even deader than you already are!”

Chuckling, Alastor turned on his microphone and strode forward, the flames having no effect on him. A spotlight shone from the eye that appeared in the center of the microphone.

“I believe I can help with that.”

“Who the fuck are you?!” spat the minotaur.

“The end of your pathetic existence,” Alastor said. “I’d say your attitude is sheer bullcrap, but who am I to know for sure.” He laughed at his pun as sounds of a laughing audience emitted from the staff.

The minotaur bellowed in rage and charged forward. A hard slap on the face from Alastor sent the bull man to the ground. Alastor stomped his foot and the bone deer were sent down into the depths in pieces.

“I’ve never hunted a bull before,” Alastor said, walking up to the minotaur on the ground. Four black spirits with big white eyes appeared to restrain him. A hunting knife appeared in his gloved hand. “…But I look forward to the new experience.”

He wedged the blade under the bull’s horns and began to saw through the material. The minotaur couldn’t fight off the spirits holding him down. Taking his sweet time, Alastor cut off the bull’s other horn.

“I must say, your horns are exquisite,” Alastor mentioned. He examined one in his hands like it was an artifact.

“Stealing my horns for the black market, are ya?” asked the minotaur.

“Nope!” he said. “I’m just curious to see how useful these things can be. We’re about to find out, ladies and gents…”

He rushed forward and stabbed the minotaur with his own horn. The bull roared loudly and briefly gurgled before falling backward with a limp. The horn was removed and coated with dark red blood.

Sticking out his long purple tongue, Alastor licked off some of the blood from the horn’s surface. He bent down and began to skin the dead minotaur before enjoying his midnight meal. “In case you were wondering, folks, bull meat can be hearty and tasty. Venison is my favorite, though.”

He stood up and wiped off his mouth. With a wave of his hands, the flames disappeared as did the spirits. Clearing his throat, he said in his announcer voice, “Welcome to the first ever radio broadcast, hosted by me, Alastor. 66.6 FM. It has to be deeply embarrassing to get stabbed to death by your own horn. But I don’t have any horns except the severed ones in my hand. Honestly, seeing the life leave that sinner’s eyes got me…should I say…horny. Ha ha ha! Stay tuned for more broadcasts in the future. Ta-la for now!”

He turned off his microphone with a tap and hummed a happy tune as he walked through the woods.

The second massacre was much more exciting for Alastor. It took place at an annual fair, which was jam packed with demons. Alastor casually walked toward the line of demons waiting to get in. He whacked one demon in the back with his cane. The demon toppled forward, ramming into another demon, who tumbled into the next one. In a comedic domino effect, all the demons crashed to the ground in yelps and grunts.

“What’s the meaning of this?” asked a grumpy old demon with the face of a mosquito. The insect demon wore a white shirt with vertical black stripes.

“Why hello there, good sir!” said Alastor, walking up to the booth. “I felt that the line was going much too slow, so I decided to speed things up.”

“Get back in line, punk,” the mosquito spit. “Or I’ll suck up your blood and energy.”

“Oh no, how scary,” Alastor exclaimed in a mocking tone. Still, he kept a protective spirit in his pocket for powerful demons like the one in front of him.

“Just tell me how much it costs to get in,” said Alastor. “I have lots of dosh.”

“One thousand and ten souls,” the mosquito grunted.

“I believe the sign only says fifty souls,” Alastor mentioned.

“No, it says one thous…”

He glanced at the sign which read: “County Fair, best in Hell, fifty souls.”

“It said one thousand and ten a moment ago.”

“I don’t think so,” said Alastor, laughing inwardly.

“Enough of your games!” bellowed the mosquito. “Get back in line. You should have enough to pay for this.”

“I do have fifty souls,” Alastor replied.

“One hundred and ten, idiot,” said the mosquito.

“Fifty!” Alastor answered.

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!”

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!” yelled the mosquito.

“How about zero!”

“Zero?!” yelled the mosquito.

“Zero it is! Thank you, fine sir!” called Alastor, swatting the mosquito’s face with his staff. He vanished ahead into shadow, leaving the mosquito in disbelief.

Alastor hummed happily as he walked among aisles of stands and booths. Children monsters threw bombs at a target, sending a sitting bat demon into a tub of acid below.

“Rotten candy!” called a pink dragon at a booth. “Freshly spun for everyone!” Blue and pink candy floss was being spun, and scooped up into a white cone. The dragon burped and the candy turned a sickly green.

A hydra at another stand was throwing darts at live suspended teddy bears covered with sores, some with eyes missing. Another demon with a TV for a head was riding a unicycle while twirling live wires in his hands.

Off in the distance, a family of brown Gollums were riding on a Ferris wheel. One of the parents got mad and threw a baby Gollum off into the air.

A roller coaster with zombies in the cars sent them upside down, then dropping them several feet to the ground on a mattress of metal spikes.

Inside a red and black circus tent, a crowd of demons sat in the stands, watching some individuals perform tricks in the center. A sign nearby read: “The Amazing Imp Siblings! Blitzo, Tilla, and Barbie Wire!”

Another sign read “The Incredible Blitzo! Big top, tickets now! One night only!”

“Come one, come all!” came the announcer’s voice from a speaker. “Presenting your favorite trio of tricksters…”

Drums played rapidly in the background…

“The Imp Siblings!”

Blitzo and his sisters emerged from an opening in the wooden floor and posed on a podium. The crowd clapped.

“Hello, I’m Blitzo, the “o” is silent!” called the imp in the middle. He wore a navy blue sequined outfit with yellow eye decorations on the sleeves. His face was red and white and his horns long and curved.

“I’m Tilla,” said the older imp sister.

Tilla’s face was red and her hair was long and black. Her dress was pink with black dots along the front.

“And I’m Barbie Wire!” said the youngest sibling. Barbie Wire wore a black and white stripped dress, and her horns were curved in spirals around her head like a ram.

After a jingle about their new Immediate Murder Professional Company, Blitzo mentioned to his siblings, who both grinned. The imps took their places as their performance started. Circus music played nearby, one scrawny demon playing a rusted organ on wheels off to the side.

True to her name, Barbie Wire balanced on a tightrope made of razor thin wire. When flying bats surrounded her, she took out a spear and sliced them down when they flew close. She almost fell, but held out the spear in front of her, steading herself.

Tilla was busy doing flips as a giant manticore was released from a nearby cage. The beast had a lion’s head, black bat wings, and the tail of a scorpion. Tilla dodged the deadly tail and began to jump over it like she was doing jump-rope. With a mighty back-flip, she landed on the manticore’s back and rode the beast around the arena. The manticore roared and reared up, but Tilla brought the beast back down, taming it.

Meanwhile, Blitzo was singing a song about murder into a microphone while twirling a double-sided torch in his hand. The three siblings killed off more creatures before landing gracefully back in the center before taking a bow. The crowd stood up and applauded with hands, claws, fins, and other appendages.

“Wow, what a performance!” exclaimed Alastor, his voice blending into the cheers. ��Now this is what I call one hell of a show!”

The Radio Demon filed out with the rest of the crowd. Feeling giddy, he played several of the games at the stands (and didn’t hesitate to cheat in order to win.) He ordered hot dogs (made from actual dog), blood punch, bird brains on a stick…and passed on the literal shit kababs.

A pleasant feeling of nostalgia came over him as he remembered the fun times going to the circus with his family as a kid. He loved playing the games and feeding the animals at the petting zoo. He was especially fascinated by the fortune tellers, who had used Tarot cards to predict people’s futures. The Fool card, representing curiosity and beginnings, was drawn as his card for his childhood. For his future teenager card, the Hermit was chosen, representing isolation. Justice was the chosen card for adulthood, adding to karma. Last of all, if he made it past 30, the Devil card was placed in front of him.

At the time, he didn’t know what they meant, but it was fascinating all the same.

Back in the present, a troll with three eyes was dragging a struggling buck toward a sitting group of spider demons waiting to ride it.

“Man, I’m still hungry,” he thought. “Haven’t had venison in forever.”

He summoned a rifle in his hands and proceeded to blast the deer’s head clean off.

“The fuck?!” bellowed the gray-skinned troll, stomping toward him. “That was my prized animal!”

“And that is my meal,” he replied.

The troll raised his fist and brought it down to where Alastor once stood. He materialized behind him.

“Stop trolling around and show me what you’ve got,” said Alastor.

The troll landed more punches, Alastor dodging every one.

“You’re no fun,” Alastor replied. He held out his hand and blasted a fireball straight into the troll’s face. The troll fell backwards to the ground, only a smoking hole of charred flesh where his face once was. Alastor picked up the deer head and smiled at the spider kids.

“You arachnids still want a ride?”

The spider kids scurried away, without saying a word.

Later on, Alastor saw something that disturbed him inside for the first time. A group of four black reptile-like demons were huddled near a yellow and red striped circus tent. One held a whip in his hand and repeatedly slashed at a living voodoo horse made of straw. The creature was hauling a cart with a cage and was whining in pain.

“Get moving you bastard beast of burden!” sneered the snake demon.

The driver of the cart let out a hiss and a laugh. “Boy, we’re gonna be filthy rich by today’s end. Got lots of good victims to torture, it’ll make the boss happy.”

Alastor walked over toward the cage and saw several small voodoo dolls who were very much alive. A father and a mother doll were comforting little doll children who huddled into their cloth chests. The mother’s eyes were purple buttons and though her mouth was stitched shut, a voice still emerged.

“It’ll be okay, my son,” she said, soothingly.

“Mom, I don’t wanna go to the spectacle,” cried the kid.

The father doll sighed. “I can see why. My mother was used by a demon to harm his rival in the Second Circle of Hell. The pins and needles stuck into her every day, hurt her as much as that poor demon. But we’re stuck as slaves. We have no choice. To the demons and imps, we’re nothing but tools to be used.”

“That is very true,” thought Alastor. “But what if they could be used in a good way?”

The father looked at a grisly array of straw voodoo heads sticking from long spikes in the ground. The dead heads were trophies for the snake monsters. One wrinkled head with white curly hair remained motionless on a bloodstained spike.

“That’s your grandmother over there,” said the father. The boy doll turned away.

“The voodoo dolls who don’t serve their purpose right…” added the mother doll. She mentioned outside to more reptile demons eating living dolls, burning others, tearing other dolls to shreds and sewing them back together, only to repeat the process.

Alastor snapped his fingers and the cage door opened. The dolls stared confused but soon ran out when they saw the demon’s face.

“Hey, get back here!” called a bipedal snake as his captives fled on their short stubby legs.

Radio noises rushed from his staff as Alastor spoke a Creole spell.

Other voodoo imps and creatures slowly turned their heads to look toward him. Round faced dolls who were originally tied by chains broke free. Many gathered nearby knives, pitchforks, and even torches.

“You inssssulent strawberry clown!” hissed the boss snake, slithering over, wearing a business suit of black. “You think you can get away with ssssetting my prizes free like that. I’ll bite you and make you wish you never died!”

A tentacle rose from the ground and constricted the snake’s neck. His yellow eyes bulged and he gasped for air through his fanged mouth. He was then tossed aside into a pit of flames. A nearby doll rebel mob stabbed the snake with sharp pins.

Casting another spell, Alastor grew taller until he towered above the circus tent. His dress coat merged with the tent and flaps. Black spikes jutted from out of the tent and other tents nearby, some with voodoo heads on them.

Telepathically using pins to hold open the flaps, Alastor pulled the rest of the snake-men in with several tentacles. A roaring fire blazed to life right where the demons were standing. The reptiles roared in agony as the flames consumed their bodies. One snake opened his mouth, wide, reaching out from the tent, trying to escape. Voodoo imps off to the side, held their little weapons in the air, attacking any other demons who wondered by. The voodoo minions now had mouths of sharp teeth, with blood around their mouths, eyes white. Alastor, meanwhile was enjoying the carnage below, now in full demon form. His hands were spread out wide, his eyes red radio dials, and his antlers jutting out from his head. All the while, his victory was broadcast yet again over the radio.

“Goood afternoon, you filthy sinners! It’s your favorite radio demon, Alastor coming in live! I am here at the annual county fair. Just listen to that cheerful circus music, and the joyful sounds of sinners on their days off. And best of all, the screams of those unfortunate enough to be trapped in my inferno! Chaos is still running rampant here as voodoo dolls strike down their former masters with every kind of weapon imaginable. You know what they say: “be careful what you wish for…you may soon be on fire, for better or worse!” Tickets are still on sale for those who’d like to experience the show. Well that’s all for now, folks. Stay tuned for more, next time on 66.6 FM.”

Now in Alastor’s control, the doll citizens caused havoc around hell in the name of their new lord of chaos. They had aided him in his many other conquests, doing his bidding like the shadow spirits.

During one particular conquest, the voodoo imps stood in a line beside Alastor as they overlooked a city in one of the Nine Circles. The sky on that day was red and cloudless, the color of fresh blood.

The demons who lived there had supported Sir Pentious, the evil snake overlord from the 1800s. The boastful villain himself was there, controlling a hulking machine with metal arms and legs…and lots of blasters, from the inside. His egg minion army stood at the ready, some of them running around the inside, others watching their leader in awe.

“Oh I really wish I could be shot with one of those amazingly crafted blasters,” said egg #66.

“Shut up!” hissed the overlord, his one-eyed top hat on his head. “I need to focus here! There’s a rogue army of…toys straight ahead trying to take over this turf. But several perfect shots from my blasters will do the trick.”

The snake pulled several levers and the blasters fired torpedoes that exploded off in the distance. Alastor had formed a red energy shield which protected him and the dolls.

“Hey, red reindeer man!” Sir Pentious called through a loudspeaker. “What are you doing on my turf?”

Alastor turned on his microphone. His voice echoed through the air, accompanied by radio noises.

“It’s Alastor to you, old serpent. And I believe this territory now belongs to me.”

“Well my cult of demons would disagree with you,” Sir Pentious retorted. The demons stood holding spears and barring their teeth.

“You still have a chance to surrender and run,” said Alastor. “If I were you, I’d take it.”

“Fool!” Sir Pentious hissed. “You’re not getting in my way of my domination goal! Now, prepare to be blasted to bits! Hahahaha! Attack!”

More blasts shot from the robot’s arms. The demons yelled as the eggs charged forward, wearing pinstriped suits and black top hats. Alastor pointed his claws forward and the voodoo imps rushed in. One imp with horns, a black hat, and sharp teeth held a butcher knife. Another imp with horns bit into an egg minion with a large bite. The egg yelled and cracked open in a yok mess.

The eye on Alastor’s microphone created a spotlight that temporarily blinded the approaching demon soldiers. Happy, jazz music poured from the staff, a contrast to the grisly battle occurring.

A wealthy demon wearing a white shirt and rings on two of his three fingers, fled when flames sparked in front of him. Another demon wearing a blue general’s uniform had large black eyes and horns with black and pink stripes. He tried to fight off the imps, but the creatures held onto his legs with their fangs.

Black tentacles emerged from an opening portal, grabbing onto demons and tossing them inside like rag dolls. A final blast fired from Sir Pentious’ machine. “You’re done for!” the snake declared.

The torpedo froze in mid-air after Alastor held out his hand. The missile then flew backwards, right into the heart of the machine. The hunk of metal exploded and Sir Pentious fell out with a scream. He quickly fled while his remaining egg army followed after him. “I’ll have my revenge, Alastor! It’s far from over!”

“I’d say it’s closed curtains for your show,” the radio demon replied. He cut into his hand with a fingernail and droplets of red blood glowed.

The demon general stood up on shaky legs…then was instantly crushed by a large metal pillar. The pillar along with two others held up a tall radio tower that had materialized out of nowhere. A red light blinked ominously at the top, an Illuminati eye, watching everything.

“Now there’s some technology I can truly appreciate!” Alastor exclaimed with a clap of his hands.

Whenever Alastor paid a visit to a city or town, the people would run for cover, shouting, “It’s the Radio Demon! Run for your afterlives!”

Their screams and terrified faces filled Alastor with glee and a sense of dominance. He hovered in the air, his eyes demonic red, antlers long and extending from his head. He was a figure of chaos and power, under the glowing pink Pentagram in the indigo sky. Voodoo imps carried animal skulls on spikes as they roamed the streets. They left several spikes in the ground with severed demon heads attached (and sometimes voodoo doll heads.) The spikes would often stand near piles of dead demons. Some dolls broke into stores and smashed TV screens with their spears and weapons. “VOX EATS SOCKS!” was spray painted in red by two dolls on the glass window of the trashed TV store. After they left, a lone voodoo minion replaced the red “S” with a black “C” and cackled out loud. Alastor’s deer shadow hovered nearby in the air, with red eyes, large antlers and a grinning mouth.

Radios of all shapes and sizes were soon for sale in many stores in Hell. One of Alastor’s favorite ones was an old fashioned one with three panels at the top, a dial, and a row of grinning teeth that was part of the design on the front. A friendly reminder for listeners to keep on smiling.

The voodoo imps evolved further, some growing horns of purple and bright pink. Others rode in battle on skeletal deer with glowing red horns in place of antlers. Those more inclined to water hitched rides from moving skeletons of sharks and underwater monsters.

Even poor Husk, the alcohol drinking gambler cat demon, was dragged into Alastor’s schemes several times. At one point, he was forced to do a tap dance on stage to distract a crowd of demons while Alastor razed the nearby town. It was embarrassing for the winged cat demon, but Alastor obviously got a kick out of it. Reluctantly, Husk continued to serve Alastor in exchange for booze and cigarettes. Meanwhile, Niffty gladly helped out the Radio Demon by making him meals and helping to keep his interdimensional home tidy. She was just glad to be out of the flames and to keep busy. Both Niffty and Husk’s auras briefly glowed red like Alastor’s, indicating they were associates of his. However, they had free will of their own…when they were not summoned by him on occasion.

At one point, Alastor posed with the rest of the villain overlords: Vox the TV demon, Velvet, Valentino the porn studio owner, Rosie, a skeletal deer surrounded by a halo of blue fire, a two-headed bird in a tuxedo, a bird overlord with yellow shades, a black spider demon, a thick haired lady who looked like Helsa, and another woman who may have been Lilith. Husk and Niffty stood as shadow silhouettes. Thirteen individuals in all.

By the time Alastor heard of the Hazbin Hotel, he had performed eleven successful massacres, all throughout the Nine Circles of Hell. There were even fliers taped around, showing Alastor at the circus with his victims burning underneath him. “THE RADIO DEMON! BEWARE HIM! DO NOT FUCK WITH HIM!” the fliers read.

Alastor hummed a jolly tune as he observed the fruitful results of his carnage. He was one step closer to dominating all of Hell.

Part 2: “Exterminations”

During one random day, the clock tower ringed twelve ominous tones. Alastor was strutting down the street when he heard the noise. He glanced up at the tower where a counter read “number of days till next purge: 0.”

“Purge?” he thought. “Sounds intriguing. Some kind of killing contest between overlords?”

Alastor soon got his answer when the center of the overhead neon pentagram in the sky tore open. Through a dark hole, dark flying creatures swarmed out and headed off in different directions. There were at least twenty of them, perhaps more.

Upon closer inspection, they were dark angels with black feathery wings, curved horns and bird-like feet clad in dark armor. They wore LED masks complete with creepy glowing grins, large x’s over their right eyes and curved horns off to the back, reaching past behind their heads. Each one also carried a harpoon spear in their hands.

One angel threw a spear that struck a flying demon square in the eye. The demon fell to the ground, lifeless. Another harpoon struck an orange horned demon in the neck, resulting in a gory death. A lone spear flew and lodged itself in the wall right above Alastor’s head.

All around the city, demons were screaming and scurrying frantically for cover. Several Exterminators circled over the cowering citizens of Hell with mechanical laughs.

“Cleanse Hell of the sinner scum!” rang out on of the angel’s voices.

With a spin and swipe of a harpoon from another angel, other demons dropped dead like bowling pins.

One of the angels glanced over to Alastor. Two other angels glanced over too, all turning their heads, grins glowing.

Alastor hid his shock with a sinister smile of his own. The shock quickly morphed into a new excitement.

“Prepare to meet your second death,” said the angel in the middle.

“Am I supposed to be sacred of you crows?” he asked.

Alastor was surrounded by the three angels hovering above him, spears raised.

His eyes turned into red radio dials and his black antlers grew slightly longer from his head.

“This is going to be quite entertaining!”

The three spears were thrown forward and black tentacles reached and slapped the weapons away.

Just as the harpoons appeared back in the Exterminator’s hands, shadow spirits with red auras circles around the angels, screeching, clawing and attacking them. One angel flapped and flailed, shaking off several spirits by striking them with a swipe of his spear. A tentacle impaled the angel through his gut from behind them. The second angel got his wings torn off by two other black tentacles emerging from portals in midair. A shadow spirit grabbed the angel’s spear and sliced off its owner’s head, falling into one of the portals.

The third angel began to flee, but Alastor grabbed hold of one of the angel’s dark arms. The Exterminator elbowed Alastor and scratched his chest with long nails. Alastor glanced down at the tears and new flowing blood soaking into his red pinstriped dress coat.

He growled darkly in a demonic voice. “That was my favorite suit.”

The Radio Demon soon had the angel in a chokehold with one of his four-fingered gloved hands.

“L-let go, filth!” the angel sputtered with a gasp.

Using his strength, Alastor bashed the angel down hard against the pavement several times. He soon heard a satisfying crack as his victim’s head split open and the dark horns fell off. He tossed the angel’s body aside for the nearby voodoo imps to consume.

Tom Trench, a white-haired guy with a facemask and a business suit appeared on screen. 666 News logo appeared in neon behind him.

“Breaking news! Exterminators have invaded Hell once again, with an even greater number than last year. Pandemonium is in the air as Heaven’s army slaughters citizens right and left at random, to reduce the population, as is tradition. Please, for your own safety, stay indoors and on lockdown. If you’re looking to take over new territory, please refrain from doing so during the rampage. It’ll be up for grabs after the purge…if you’re still alive, of course.”

There was a sound of glass breaking from the news room as a spear flew over Tom Trenches head.

“That’s all for today! This is Tom Trench, 666 News at 5. Until next time, have a great evening.”

Tom Trench fled the scene as an LED wearing angel eclipsed the careen and smashed it, causing static.

Alastor stood still for a moment…

“Who ho ho! What a great picture show. Wasn’t expecting that nice surprise during this time. Perhaps I should broadcast my acts of destruction on those Exterminators…”

More spears flew in the air, crackling with electricity. Alastor saw more angels fly through the overhead hole. Alastor glanced at his stinging chest.

“One more act it is then.”

His vintage microphone staff appeared in his right hand and lit up to life. The eye in the center of the microphone moved from side to side.

“You want to take things even further, do you not?” asked a radio voice from the microphone.

“You know me too well,” he replied. “But then again, you are a part of me, so of course you would.”

Alastor lifted himself into the air with a large tentacle, red voodoo symbols surrounding him. He tapped the staff and it blinked on.

“Well good evening, little sinners! It’s your one any only host, Alastor, the Radio Demon. Right now, I’m in the midst of a bloody battle between you citizens and the infamous Exterminators. It looks like several denizens of Hell have already fallen prey to the invaders. One angel’s beating up an imp pretty bad over there. Another demon with a spear through her mouth by the store window, doesn’t look too good for her…”

Four angels flew headfirst toward Alastor, only to be knocked back by red energy flowing from Alastor’s body. One unlucky angel got set on fire with a simple snap of the demon’s fingers. The angel let out a rather unholy yell before disintegrating.

Alastor’s hands and microphone were splattered with fresh blood. He fooled with the angels for several more minutes and spoke into his microphone. “Time for some jokes, my friends. What do you call a rejected do-gooder from Heaven?”

Alastor punched a charging angel in the face, sending him flying.

“A fallen angel! Ahhahahaha.”

Several exterminators down below were disintegrating Alastor’s shadow spirits with beams of light from their hands. One angel shot beams of light at the Radio Demon, who dodged each one. Her hair was long and blonde in the back. The angel roared in anger and shot light spears in every direction. Tentacles around Alastor blocked her attacks.

“Wow, that angel over there looks pretty mad…”

She looped and spun herself rapidly toward him, her hand in a fist. Her fist stopped right in front of Alastor’s face. He grabbed hold of her chest tight with one hand and karate-chopped her head off with his other hand.

“…I guess you could say she lost her head! Hahahaha!”

He dropped her headless body and continued swatting angels away like flies.

After a few more moments, Alastor was getting bored. It was time for the grand finale. He stood on a platform of surrounding tentacles.

He curled his right hand into a fist, sharp pointed nails digging into his now-glowing palm. Several large drops of red blood rained down from his hand, falling to the ground.

Several flaming holes appeared in the air around the flying exterminators. Tentacles wrapped around each of their waists, binding their hands and pulling back their wings. Their harpoons were tossed into the portals by separate tentacles. At least a dozen angels were brought close together, each of them bond by tentacles.

Voodoo symbols surrounded Alastor and his eyes briefly turned dark, displaying radio waves sizzling across them. His black antlers now extended far beyond his head.

Long thick shadows rose from the ground until forming into two swirling shadows on either side of the tied up angels. The shadows slowed, and solidified into two large gray four-clawed hands. The pointed fingernails were yellow, the same color as a spot down the middle of each finger.

Indeed, the large hands were uncovered copies of Alastor’s real hands.

The staff vanished. From a distance, Alastor lined up his own hands with the giant ones, which copied his hand movements.

Then, inch by inch, the hands closed in.

The angels stared in fear behind their gruesome masks, struggling to free themselves from their bonds. The remaining angels outside looked on in worry. A few bowed their heads and mouthed silent prayers.

The large curved fingers overlapped seconds after Alastor slowly interlocked his own. An invisible force tried to push the palms of his hands apart. But his hands closed in more, like he was molding invisible clay to his liking.

“For my final act of tonight, you shall witness…”

The last of the angel’s heads and struggling forms disappeared behind gray fingers and flesh.

With an evil grin and a glow of his eyes, Alastor pushed his own hands together.

The large hands closed with a shuddering shake. Muffled crunching and squelching came from inside. Alastor opened up his hand and the giant ones followed. A shower of blood, bits of body parts, and black feathers rained down to the street.

He finished in a low demonic voice, “…the Exterminators’ crushing defeat.”

Applause erupted from his microphone as the large hands deformed and sent out shadowy creatures which vanished through the last several portals before they closed. The remaining angels shivered and fled through the black hole overhead. Alastor’s antlers receded back to normal size.

“Well, folks, that’s all for tonight. I hope you enjoyed this remarkable demonstration of my amazing power. This is Alastor, 66.6 FM. Until next time, have a splendid evening…and as always, stay tuned!”

No one said a word as the Radio Demon lowered himself to the ground. The tentacles and portals vanished behind him. He stared at his bleeding hand and wrist. Lightheadedness overtook him. He waved his hand one more time and stepped down into a portal, which soon closed above him.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He was back in his lair, a bizarre home-like hideout floating in a void dimension just underneath Hell. It was a place where the Loa and dark spirits roamed.

Using so much power and blood magic had taken a bit of a stretch on his body. Gray circles were under his eyes, barely noticeable. With a yawn, he went into a bathroom to clean his wounds. The two handled faucets were made of gold and shaped like miniature deer heads. A black clawed bathtub decorated with large eyes stood in the center of the room.

After washing up and changing into a red velvet night gown, Alastor wandered past the living room, a room with a blood red rug, a couch, comfy leather chairs, and a fireplace of black flames. Above the mantle on the wall were stuffed deer heads mounted on display of various colors and states of decay. Rifles and several collected angel weapons were displayed in a darker corner of the room. Walking into the kitchen, Alastor pulled out vension deer meat from the icebox and heated it up on the stove. He hummed “You’re Never Fully Dressed” as he cooked.

After he ate his meal, he made his way into his room down the hall. Inside his room was a large bed with a leather comforter and satin red pillows. An old fashioned TV with two antennae sticking out stood nearby. Several different radios were lined up on a polished wooden dresser with a vanity mirror framed with round lights around it. Inside his closet were his suits neatly hung and shoes in a holder. Voodoo dolls resembling himself, Husk, Charlie, Angel and others were lined up in a black cabinet.

Alastor yawned again and climbed up into his bed. He soon had a small relaxed grin on his face. The lights went off after he waved his hand. His eyes dimmed and turned into small red radio dials. The droning sound of a radio powering off briefly filled the room as Alastor slept with his eyes wide open.

Part 3: “Killing Spree for Three”

Several years had passed since the Radio Demon had terrorized tons of provinces in Hell. It had started in 1933 shortly after his mortal death, when he fell down into Hell and was granted his powers by the Loas, Voodoo shadow spirits. Alastor, of course, had taken advantage of his new demonic deer-like form and Eldritch abilities, using his vintage microphone staff to broadcast his victories and carnage wherever he went. His sentient shadow had hovered by his side with an ever-present smile on his face like his counterpart.

During his time in Hell, Alastor had conjured looming metal radio towers and stations in the areas he had claimed. Despite being new to Hell in 1933, he quickly figured out the functions of Hell’s hierarchy.

Lucifer and Lilith were the powerful King and Queen, not to be tested with nor disobeyed. It was safe to assume that they knew everything that went on throughout the fiery realm. This was why Alastor never revealed his plans out loud…or if he did, he morphed the meaning into something more superficial.

Sinners, or those that had previously been human, were considered the lowest of the low in terms of class. They were the majority in Hell but also faced various forms of discrimination. Without his powers and charisma, Alastor would’ve fit the lowest sinner category.

Alastor was already familiar with being a societal outcast. Back in New Orleans as a human, he had been mocked and jeered at for being part white and part Creole. It was a time when racism ran rampant and white elites got to enjoy the most luxuries. If it weren’t for is mother and radio career, he would’ve rotted away in jail or in poverty.

But unlike his previous life, Alastor was much more prepared, and powerful. The Hellborns included imps, hellhounds and other creatures born in Hell, considered “superior” to sinners. However, even the Hellborn were nothing compared to the Overlords, powerful demon rulers with abilities beyond average. Alastor had become an overlord the moment he broadcast his first massacre in a dark gnarled wood.

It was not uncommon for overlords to not get along and to fight over turf, slaves, drugs and other commodities. Vox, the TV demon, Valentino the Porn Studio owner, and Velvet the doll demon were sometimes called the Three V villains. Vox and Alastor did not get along, for Alastor despised post 30’s technology. Alastor had also defeated Sir Pentious, an inventor snake demon who was previously born during the Industrial Revolution. Though that was so long ago, that he had forgotten who he was fighting with.

Currently, Alastor had control over a voodoo doll and imp army, could summon shadow spirits at will and create portals to the “other side.” He even created his own interdimensional lair underneath Hell.

Alas, just those benefits weren’t good enough. Alastor was a man constantly on the lookout for other sources of influence and entertainment. Why would he settle for anything less in his second “life?” Being one of the most powerful demons in Hell was no small feat. He required other allies and servants… those who were citizens themselves. Humming happily with his usual smile on his face, Alastor made his way into the city.

Under the red sky, monsters and demons of all shapes and sizes wondered the pot-hole covered streets of Pentagram City. A neon Pentagram hovered over in the sky, a symbolic reminder to those below where they were. However, the demons went about their ways like ordinary humans would on Earth. Teen Hellhound females smoked cigarettes while leaning against a wall. A black furry spider demon got into an argument with a zombie over a meth purchase. The zombie punched the spider in the gut and in turn, the spider knocked the zombie’s head clean off. The head yelled swear words as it plopped to the ground.

From inside a strip club, Angel Dust, a white spider demon was spinning upside down on a pole onstage. He was dressed in nothing but red lacy underwear, his legs spread wide for the viewers to see. Techno music was muffled by the window. Two snakes chased each other loudly and bust into the club, briefly catching Alastor’s attention. One demon spotted the Radio Demon from outside and fainted from terror. Angel Dust puckered his mouth in a kiss and waved at Alastor. Alastor rolled his red eyes in disgust and walked on.

A vertical neon sign on a street corner displayed a yellow saxophone with white musical notes coming out of it. The words along the side read “Mimzy’s Club and Bar.”

“Mimzy…” Alastor said out loud. “That name sounds very familiar.”

He went up to open the door and walked inside.

He was greeted by the upbeat sounds of trumpets, drums, a saxophone and even a piano not too far away. Demons wearing cowboy hats and mustaches were playing pool far in the back. Against one wall was a pink neon sign which read “Drinking” over a display of bottles. A humanoid couple dressed in Day of the Dead outfits were smooching in a booth filled with cigarette smoke. A red horned ogre dressed in gray Viking armor was serving up mugs of beer and alcohol to customers sitting on stools at the tall obsidian counter.

Just then, a short demon dressed like a jester with a stripped hat complete with bells stood up from his chair. He looked up and saw Alastor’s pale grayish face leering down at him. The jester gasped in fright and scurried backward. “It-it’s the Radio Demon!”

The music abruptly stopped and the chatter ceased. Everyone turned to stare at him, fear, anger, and for a few, excitement in their eyes. Alastor snapped his fingers and a spotlight appeared over him.

“Hello, there fellow sinners! How are you all doing this fine evening?”

Nobody said a word.

He chuckled and held out his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to harm anyone. I’ve just come by to relax and have a drink. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Several demons quickly shook their heads and muttered affirmations. Alastor glanced at the jazz band on stage and tilted his head. “Aren’t you going to play some tunes for us?”

The band members started their next song, making sure it was loud and catchy.

Several other demons moved out of the way to let him pass.

Alastor tilted his hand toward his chest. “Ah, such pleasant company here!”

The spotlight faded as Alastor took a seat at the bar.

The Viking ogre turned to look at him.

“Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Surely you know who I am?”

The ogre shook his head, unfazed. The others turned to the bartender, with concerned looks.

“Well,” said Alastor, “It’s nice to meet you, good chap.”

The ogre just grunted in response.

“I’ll have a small black coffee and a glass of Sazerac liquor, please.” Sazerac was one of the first cocktails in New Orleans.

The ogre nodded. “7 souls each.”

Alastor placed 13 dark coins with a small eye on each one on the counter. The ogre scooped them up in his meaty hand and turned to get the drinks ready.

“Heh, heh, he forgot to count them,” Alastor thought.

His black coffee was soon brought out in a small white mug on a white plate. Carefully picking up the mug by the round handle with several claws, Alastor softly blew over the cup before taking a sip. A satisfying bitter heat filled his mouth. It filled his core with warmth and made him feel more alert, just like it did every morning during his past life. He took more sips and closed his eyes in content. For a millisecond, unnoticed by anyone, his face briefly morphed into his human one: light brown skin, thin pointed chin, brown eyes and short brown hair with a wave off to one side. Small round glasses were placed over his nose. Then, just as quickly, his face returned to his current one: grayish pale, yellow teeth, red eyes, red and black hair, monocle under his right eye.

After several musical numbers had played, Alastor’s next drink had arrived. Alastor noticed something was not right.

“Uh excuse me?” he asked.

“What?” asked the ogre.

“I asked for a glass of Sazerac. Why did you get me noodle juice?”

He stared at the cup of brown tea on the counter in disgust.

The ogre shrugged. “We ran out of that kind of liquor. That fellow over there ordered the last one.”

He pointed to a shark demon finishing up the rest of his liquor bottle before smashing it on the floor and pushing open the doors.

“Heheheheh…excuse me for a second,” Alastor said.

He stood up and followed the bipedal shark outside. The visitors sitting in booths and chairs could hear muffled pounding, grunts, and stomps coming from outside. At one point, a dark tentacle appeared out of nowhere and then vanished. The gray shark’s head was slammed against the window, slowly sliding down covered in red blood. The demons shrugged, turned back around and continued chatting.

The Radio Demon stomped back into the room, smile on his face but anger in his eyes. The ogre seemed to be whispering something to someone hidden in the back. Alastor spoke to the bartender, composed, hiding his frustration. “I believe we were at the part where I asked you…why did you serve me noodle juice?”

“I already told you, we were out of liquor.”

“How does a bar run out of liquor so suddenly?”

“How should I know?”

“Do you have anything else?”

The ogre occupied himself with cleaning a mug.

“Besides noodle juice?”

A muffled giggle came from behind a set of curtains. He waved his hand and the curtains pulled back. A demon with black wings, horns, and a hat with a domino on it was laying on the floor with several empty bottles of Sazerac around him. He whispered to the ogre who turned around, “You lost the bet, you fucking lard. I told you he’d say “noodle juice” when you gave him tea.”

“I ain’t giving you any money,” the ogre whispered. “I’m the one who pranked the prankster.”

The horned demon stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes. “6.6 souls, hand them over.”

Radio static suddenly filled the air. “You think I’m a joke to you?”

The horned demon turned around and his eyes met Alastor’s before he was plunged down into a portal that appeared from underneath him. The black tentacle monster swallowed the prankster demon in one gulp. The portal closed and Alastor stared at the ogre. He sat down in his seat.

“Kindly fetch me a bottle of Sazerac before I hang you from the ceiling with your intestines.”

The ogre gulped and ran out of the room. He was stopped by a sharp tentacle slicing through his chest. His mutilated body crashed down a flight of stars in the back, starling a waitress who looked like an ostrich.

Alastor tossed the tea aside and summoned a bottle of Sazerac in front of them.

“Sometimes you gotta do things yourself,” he muttered before taking a big gulp from the bottle. Despite his powers, he enjoyed it when people did things for him, like bringing him drinks. The soul coins he had given to the ogre, flew back into his hand and vanished.

From backstage, a woman was putting the finishing touches of makeup on her face while staring at herself in a large square mirror framed in round lights. She took a deep breath and stood up from her seat. The music stopped and shortly after, a green suit-wearing alien stepped up to the stage and announced, “Our next performer, the marvelous Mimzy!” A woman walked onto the stage. Alastor looked over and his red eyes widened. His smile grew an inch more. The woman was short and chubby, wearing a pink flapper dress and a headband with pink feathers on it. Her black heels tapped against the floor in a rhythmic pace. Her face was white and her large eyes were black with hot pink pupils. She strutted up to the microphone, proud and confident.

Mimzy fluffed her short blonde hair and waved at the audience. Then she sang a lovely catchy jazz song from the early 1900s. Then she finished off with “Down in New Orleans,” much to Alastor’s delight. What a lovely melodic voice she had!

Alastor remembered Mimzy as a blonde-haired human, she had been a worker at a jazz club in New Orleans and she and Alastor had danced together on stage. He admired her then and still admired her now. They had shared a kiss as humans but Alastor thought of her as an affectionate friend.

That was all before he went insane and killed her in a frenzy.

Mimzy had been sent to Hell since she killed her husband in self-defense and was briefly a prostitute to make ends meet.

After Mimzy sang and stepped off to the side, another demon came up to the stage. She was tall and slender with sharp teeth in a smile, black eyes, and a large round pink hat with skulls on it covering her head. Several other demons bowed as she walked up to the microphone. She took out her pink umbrella, spun it around in a twirl and did a song and dance number: “Practically Perfect in Every Way.”

“By the time the fire has burned the restless souls down,

I’ll tell you, yes I can,

No matter the circumstance for one thing you shall know,

My character is spite, shine, spic and span,

I’m practically perfect in every way”

“For demons say

Each sin and misdeed knows no bounds

To hate is great and patently sound

I’m practically perfect head to tail

If you found a fault, it would be to no avail

I’m so practically perfect in every way”

“Both prim and proper, graceful and stern

So passive, at peace yet willing to TURN (briefly goes to demon form)

I’m clean and honest, my manner refined

And I wear hats of the sensible kind

I suffer no nonsense and whilst I remain

There’s nothing much else I need to explain”

“I’m practically perfect in every way

Factually flawless, that’s my forte

Uncanny ladies are hard to find

Unique, not meek, great matters of mind

I’m practically perfect, and never soiled

Killing like a villain with victims freshly boiled

I’m so practically perfect in every way

Well those are my credentials

Perhaps you have a few questions?”

“Yeah I have one!” called a boar demon. “Did you copy Mary Poppin’s song and just add your words to it?”

The crowd laughed and clapped.

Rosie took a bow. “Yes, so what if I did? I did it for my audience!”

On Earth, Rosie had been the CEO of a clothing company. She had also danced and met with Alastor as a human. She went to Hell due to forcing her employees to work long hours with hardly any breaks. Stern, elegant and vain, she was a perfectionist and it showed at her job. She did well when it came to organization, dressing fancy…and killing those who stood in her way. In Hell, she was an overlord and owner of an emporium.

Like with Mimzy, she and Alastor enjoyed singing and dancing…and terrorizing others. However, they had only gotten a glimpse of each other during their individual conquests and work.

But now was the chance for Alastor to warm up to his lovely lady friends.

Rosie finished her song and took a bow. Alastor clapped enthusiastically. “Bravo, bravo, what an outstanding performance!”

Alastor waved at the two performers who briefly glanced at him.

“Who’s that?” Mimzy asked, curiously.

“One of my fellow overlords. Haven’t interacted with him, though,” Rosie replied.

Alastor morphed into shadow and teleported onto the stage between them.

Both women gasped as Alastor appeared with either hand on their shoulders.

“Why hello, lovely ladies! Care if I join you?” He kissed Rosie’s hand, then Mimzy’s.

Rosie raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you that super-powered radio guy that terrorized half of Hell?”

“Yes indeedy. How do you do?”

“Be thankful that you’re a fellow overlord,” Rosie replied. She stared into his red eyes, “…and I’ll admit, devilishly charming. You name?”

“Alastor.”

“I’m Rosie.”

“Mimzy,” said the other lady, already blushing at the handsome stranger.

“Boo!” shouted a white demon shaped like a fox. “You’re interrupting the show!”

Alastor merely shrugged and laughed, the spotlight now on him. He conjured up his microphone staff in his right hand, which glowed red. “How about one joke before the next dance?”

“No dad jokes, get off the stage!” the fox yelled.

Alastor turned to the booing demon. “What time does my radio show start in Hell?”

“No one fucking cares!” the fox yelled.

“6:06…A-M. But thankfully, you won’t have to listen to it.”

He snapped his fingers and the fox demon exploded in a shower of guts and blood. The other demons stepped away from the mess.

Having the time of his afterlife, Alastor smiled even more and held Mimzy and Rosie’s hands. With a wave of his hand, his usual outfit turned into a red suit, and a white undershirt with a black bowtie. He now had black tap dancing shoes plus a top hat complete with stitches and two small pins sticking out.

“Embarrassing fact, I can’t tap dance,” Alastor said under his breath.

“I can teach you how,” Rosie said.

Alastor’s red eyes curved slightly into arches, his smile genuine. “I’d like that very much.”

The jazz band began to play a catchy tune. Alastor stood between the two women.

“I think you may have heard this song on the radio. Ready?”

Mimzy and Rosie nodded, already knowing the lyrics and familiar music.

Together the trio danced and sang Alastor’s favorite song: “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile.”

“Hey, hobo man, Hey Dapper Dan

You’ve both got your style

But Brother, you’ve never fully dressed without a smile!”

“Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But Brother you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

“Who cares what they’re wearing

On Main Street or Saville Row

It’s what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe that matters”

“So, Senator, So Janitor

So long for a while

Remember you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

After a standing ovation from the audience, Rosie, Mimzy and Alastor sat together in a both. The table in front of them had a white tablecloth over it, though it was smeared with bloodstains. A small vase of black roses was placed in the center of the table.

The brown-haired bipedal ostrich waitress came over and asked them what they’d like to order.

“Rare venison, a side of Jambalaya, and a glass of New Orleans whiskey, 1901,” said Alastor.

“Shrimp Creole with champagne,” Mimzy added.

“Bouillabaisse and a glass of red wine,” Rosie said.

“Deer meat?” Mimzy asked curiously as the waitress walked away on her long yellow bird legs.

“Yep. Still got the old hunter in me.”

Alastor mimicked gunshots with his hands and Mimzy giggled.

“I must say, you’re a really good singer, Alastor,” Rosie said, smiling.

“Why thank you kindly, dear.”

“Despite what many may say, even genocidal overlords need some time to unwind and relax.”

“I agree with you there. Say, how did you meet Miss. Mimzy?”

“Strangely enough, at Lilith’s Resist concert,” Mimzy replied. “Rosie wanted to sing a song for Lilith and needed a backup vocalist. Naturally enough, I volunteered.”

“Were you nervous?” Alastor asked.

“Nervous, terrified…and super excited! Me, singing with an overlord and beside the queen! It was too good of an opportunity to waste. Heh, I’m glad I did well on the stage, otherwise Rosie would’ve incinerated me on the spot. People soon heard about my performance and more sinners came over to my jazz club!”

“Oh how wonderful!” Rosie replied. She then sighed. “Nothing out of the ordinary; still beating up my workers with my cattails made from hardened cat tails. (They feel like barbed steel, despite the appearance.) They still moan and complain but it seems to work. Business is business you know. There are those boring overlord meetings, occasionally discussing politics with the Magnes, the whole 66 yards. I bet that someday, my associate Franklin’s gonna get murdered and I’ll be the head of my emporium.”

Alastor laughed. “Oh my, how intriguing. You plan to kill him?”

“No, I’ll let mother nature do the rest.”

“Don’t you mean…stepmother inferno?”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “Puns are not funny.”

“They’re punny to me,” Alastor added. “Such great classics.”

Rosie cleared her throat, “No dad jokes. Please.”

“Aw come on,” Alastor teased in a mocking tone, “I was about to do my “Radio not, here I come” knock knock joke.”

Mimzy crossed her arms. “Spoilers, much?”

The trio’s dinners had arrived: a large rotten shrimp and clams for Rosie, Creole shrimp with demon bones for Mimzy and a fresh deer head over shrimp, rice, sausage and vegetables for Alastor.

“This is such a splendid meal,” Rosie said, satisfied.

Alastor whipped his face with his napkin. “I agree. Just as tasty as my human victims I ate on Earth. Though I will say, in regards to my…ignorant father, nothing beats the sweet taste of vengeance!”

Mimicking a choking sound, he leaned his entire head backwards with a loud crack and the others laughed.

He repositioned his head back to the front.

Alastor raised his bottle of whisky as Mimzy and Rosie lifted their drinks.

“To eternal chaos and happiness for us,” said Alastor, “and eternal damnation to our enemies.”

“Here, here!” they all said as their glasses clinked.

Soon, they had all finished their meals.

Mimzy then took a closer look at Alastor. “You…act familiar. It’s like I’ve known you before.”

Alastor tilted his head slightly. “You don’t say? Because I can say the same about you. I remember this beautiful singer I encountered at a bar in New Orleans. She was confident in her singing and loved doughnuts and desserts?”

“Yes…yes that was me!” she exclaimed. “Heh, being busy in Hell doesn’t give you much time to think about your past life.”

Then her eyes grew wide, suddenly fearful. “You…did you…”

“What?” Alastor asked.

“You were the one will killed me!”

Alastor’s eyes moved off to the side. “No, that was a different Alastor.”

“Phonus balonus!” Mimzy exclaimed in anger. “How many people in New Orleans have such a unique name?”

Alastor shrugged. “A lot, I imagine.”

Mimzy shoved Alastor off to the side and grabbed hold of his fancy red outfit. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“You know… I don’t like…to be touched,” Alastor seethed.

“Answer me!”

Alastor took a breath and removed her hands from his shirt. Memories came flashing back to him. “You were about to call the coppers on me. I knew I’d be caught and my life would be over. I wasn’t in my right state of mind and...”

Alastor stared down at his hands. He hadn’t felt this kind of regret and numbness since he watched his mother die and eat her remains. “Ending people’s lives…it was my only purpose…the one thing I could control besides broadcasting on the radio. I could lash out my frustrations and see results…I felt powerful when I did it, and I still do.”

He paused, unsure of what to say next. He held in his oncoming tears. “I…was holding your body, feeling regret at what I had done…”

Mimzy slowly backed away.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice cracked slightly, despite his smile.

“You just ended my life because you could! I tried to stop you.”

“Sometimes, I wish you would have,” Alastor said softly. Then his regular voice came back, though it didn’t display the usual showiness in it.

“But look at you know. You have a new life here. It’s in Hell, but you’ve made the most of it. You’re a star and everyone knows it. Aren’t you happy with your life here?”

Mimzy shrugged. “It’s still better than death.”

“I didn’t really know if there was going to be an afterlife or not. I…I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.” Mimzy replied. “I lost the Alastor I knew, that day, and…and now he’s gone.”

Tears fell freely from her black eyes. Alastor wiped away her tears with his finger. “I might not be human anymore, but I’m still here. Deep down, I’m still the same entertainer, but more than that, your close friend. I swear by Lucifer that I’ll never harm you again.” He held her hands and she sniffed.

“A-apology accepted.”

Alastor lifted up the corners of her mouth. “Don’t forget to smile, my dear. You’re never dressed without one.”

Mimzy leaned her head into Alastor’s chest, then abruptly sat up, hands on her hips.

“But you owe me…big time. 666 souls, daily groin kicks, plus swimming in the lake of fire.”

Alastor grinned.

“…without extra powers.”

Alastor’s grin shortened.

“So… it’s a deal then?” Alastor asked with a smirk.

She slapped his hand away. “No deals, jackass!”

Rosie’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Okay, this is awkward. Should I leave you two alone?”

“No no no, sweetheart, it’s fine,” Alastor reassured her.

“Don’t forget the midnight overlord meeting tomorrow. Lord Lucifer’s orders,” Rosie mentioned.

“Ugh how boring,” Alastor scoffed. “One of the bad things about my status.”

Alastor and his lady friends talked and enjoyed themselves throughout the night. It was a “dinner date” but it was also a “hanging hang out.” Afterwards. Rosie came up with the name after dinner when the three of them hung other demons from trees.

Soon the three friends embraced (Alastor hugged them, then stood back) and they said their farewells. Although Alastor was tempted to turn them into his slaves, he decided against it. Using his powers on another overlord could prove tricky. And he already made a promise not to hurt Mimzy.

Alastor glanced over at a casino and noticed a black and white cat winning a gambling tournament for the third time in a row. The way the cat moved and gulped down bottle after bottle of booze seemed familiar. A cyclops demon was sitting within the flames of a fireplace inside the building, sewing a quilt.

“Hmm,” Alastor thought. “A Niffty darling…and a Husk of a gambling guy…this should be quite entertaining…”

He finished with a low laugh.

Next time… “Shady Deals” 1973

Next time... “Daddy Dearest”

#hazbin hotel #Alastor

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