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mikeywriting · 2 years ago

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Prologue Chapters

So! It's here. Just the first four. These are just drafts though, none of these chapters are permanent and are subject to further change. The intent of posting this draft is to give you my audience a chance to take a look inside and see what I got cooking. Differing writing styles - you might notice that each chapter's writing style is more different than the others. This is intended. Each character has their own perspective and thus a writing style to accompany it.

Intents - to introduce you to the characters of my story and a bit about who they are.

Nitpick as you like, I could always use the extra pair of eyes.

Withour further ado,

Lighteater: Tales of Willowfield

Chapter 1

Brothers On The Wind

“Winter was coming to its bitter end that year. The island of Willowfield was slowly beginning to defrost from ‘the long sleep,’ as most locals called it. Me, my big brother, and Mason just moved here. Willowfield is alright, the woods are unbearably thick; you could easily get lost if you wandered just a few inches from the trail, but things like that never stopped me. I like getting lost, I always find my own way back because Mason always helps me find a way out. . . I’ve had visions again, these ones were much clearer. When we got here, I saw a bunch of ‘ghost-children’ by the shore and by the trail, the children that got lost, their voices lost in this great hall of time, calling out for their mothers and fathers. I don’t like this place too much for that but, Mason loves it, he can’t get enough of the snow. In Eksura, we were lucky if we could afford the time to go on a trip to the north but here, we live in the north. As long as my sweet dragon babe loves this place, I know I’ll love it too.”

-Tsujiro

Howard looked at his brother from their new house, a slight grin across his face to rid him of his guilt. Three days on the sea wasn’t as troublesome as the trouble Tsujiro got back home. His little brother would always get in some sort of trouble for stealing, fighting, or being tricked by the older kids. It got even worse when he began to receive visions.’ He claimed one day that he saw the Grand Sage and the fabled Emperor speaking to each other in the deep woods. Everyone called him crazy and for that, he got in even more trouble. Tsujiro was a lot of things but a liar he was not. The worst part though was that Howard knew that Tsujiro wasn’t lying about his visions; he knew they were real. Howard and the rest of his family possess something familiar. But to protect Tsujiro, the truth could never be told. Not until the right time, so he thought.

While he let Tsujiro and Mason play in the woods, Howard took to the house’s utilities. The plumbing is said to be decent around Starfield, so he checked the faucets. When he turned the tap, he swore to all that he knew was holy that he heard something whisper from in it.

“Krick. . . krack. . .the. . . time. . . attack. . . krick. . .”

Its voice was weak and rough and it echoed from within before letting loose a sudden burst of water. When the water ran, the voice was slowly being overtaken before disappearing. Howard thought himself insane or at least halfway there. He turned off the faucet and then on again, but nothing other than water came out. He took a deep breath and moved on. He thought that it must have just been stress from the trip to Willowfield and Tsujiro… He looked out the window and could no longer see Tsujiro. No shadow, no voice, nothing. So he ran to where he saw him last. A large boulder where the sun shines upon its flat podium like top. He called out.

“Tsujiro! Mason!”

Hoping for them to answer back. But the only thing that heard him were the crows that flocked about. The fluttering of large midnight wings were the only sounds that reciprocated his shouting. He shouts again. “Tsujiro! Come on, it's time to go home. The sun is setting. . .”

He looked to the blue gray clouds where scarlet slivers of sunset scant cover it like veins.

“Tsujiro!”

He wouldn’t stop until he heard him. But stop he did, because he heard something other than the nature that engulfed him. Hearts beating. One strong and firm, the other weak yet defiant. He could hear them coming northward. So he ran in hopes that his gift would serve him the way he needs it to. With each step that plunged into the ground, he could hear them getting louder.

“Help. . . me. . .”

The sound of his brother’s voice. Light and young, like a fledgling’s first crest.

“I’m coming for you.” He said to himself with heroic intent to save his brother, he ran as quickly as his boots would carry him. That desire to save his brother would however, face a peculiar problem. An atrocity to humankind’s eyes. It was something he would never want to see again in any part of his life. It shook him to his heart’s very beating. Rending the soul’s sanity and piercing him through his chest, it felt like a heavy breath of wind entered his chest and never left. Its seething mass was grotesque and bent in ways that should not be possible, but alas, he witnesses them defy goodness. This shambling mound of horrors presented itself in front of him, one tendril carrying the helpless Tsujiro and Mason.

“Howard!”

Tsujiro yelled out. Howard wanted to run, wanted it to end, whichever was fastest. He just wanted to stop seeing it. Voices in his head flooded like a harbor wave. They wouldn’t stop tormenting him, possessing his body to do things he was not yet doing but knew he did or felt like he did. It split him into pieces beyond recognition. He couldn’t even remember his own name then nor the year Tsujiro was born. He forgot himself. Until. . .

“I need you!”

It was always those words that would have him by the throat. No matter how much it split him apart, this one piece was always the same. It was like a binding by his core. His brother needs him and nothing can stop him from doing just that. Not even this abomination of reality. Clasping his loose fists, Howard couldn’t bear the pain, but he couldn’t resist the call. Legs rushed and ran with reckless abandon, right arm primed for a reckless haymaker. He swung as he approached but. . . whiffed. It was a sinking feeling in his gut, a feeling of failure. Before feeling a sudden rush of energy. The ground obeyed his wish. He could not recall the exact events but it was like he became a part of the ground or perhaps it was the ground that became a part of him. The ‘thing’ if it could even be called that. Would soon find itself buried in the rubble of the mountain’s foot and Howard would find himself walking home, Tsujiro laid asleep on his arms as Mason followed. His eyes were numb, his mind was wounded, and his body was spent. The air was lighter but not without cost. He was not in his right mind but many pieces of him knew that they had to keep it together. Because in their hands, lay the most precious thing in their world.

“So keep it together.”

He muttered to himself with cold unfeeling eyes that gazed into the dark fields. As they walked home, Howard would slowly convince himself to wake up. No matter how comforting the lifeless ground was, he had to stay awake. Especially for Tsujiro. He was always a troublesome kid, but he never means ill without any well. He’s important, he’s the most precious things, he’s touched by the divine gift. A gift beyond the conception of human history. A gift that kept them safe and he has the gift to fell nations whole or build worlds off a whim. He was. . .

“My brother.”

His eyes fluttered. The last thing he could remember was the sight of something he couldn’t remember. It held his brother until he smacked it with what felt like the force of a train.

“We’re different, you and I.”

He told his unconscious brother.

“You’re more special though. I don’t know why, but I feel it is so.”

He laid him down on the dusty old sofa and washed his face, unbothered and completely moved on from the dreadful thing he had just experienced. He had work to do after all. Work for him and for his brother.

“Goodnight, Howard.”

Chapter 2

Guns and Willow Trees

“Willow trees. It’s my favorite type of tree. It is said that their bark and leaves are so sacred that they ward off all evil. I spend my time in the spring and summer underneath one I call, Goody’s Hollow, named after my surname. Its bark is strong and sturdy, enough that it could easily survive a monster’s attacks. There’s a hollow inside that I can crawl in for safety and I placed talismans made of its shedded branches around it. This way, I’ll know for sure that my hollow is safe from the

Darkness.

The other kids are still afraid of me. I asked them if they wanted to see my hollow the other day, but they stared at me with such disgust that it pierced my heart. I felt wounded, felt horrible, felt like a monster in their eyes. But maybe it is true. I’ve seen things beyond their comprehension, I could stare into the void and point my gun at it without trembling, nothing can terrify me the way I scare them.”

-Connor Goody

Connor Goody. Disgraced bastard son of two figures just as mysterious as his own birth and existence. The only two souls on the island kind enough to harbor the like of him were Ella and Emily Goody. Everyone believes the two to be widows who live alone together, others think them sisters, very few rumor them a couple. Out of all of Willowfield’s towns, they chose to live in the Lonewood hills where their little cabin housed the once little, Connor Goody.

He was unlike any other child. He would tell stories that no one’s ever heard of before. Most of the time, they would be the morbid ways a person died from some far off century or a guide on how to ride a horse; which some people found to be an awful idea. You would never want to be around a horse. Especially horses in Willowfield. He spoke with such impunity and confidence that people began to think of a madchild of him. His eccentrism was beyond what they could understand as he spouted what seemed to be insanities at the time. They would come to accept him for his freakish behavior and that perhaps he was just born beneath the light of a dark star.

Connor’s life in school was a brambling mess. Academically, a few of his teachers thought him a revolutionary, the others thought of him as a babbling schizophrenic. Despite what they may think of him though, there was one fact about his unpredictable nature that they knew for sure. He was their smartest and that was something they knew wouldn’t lead to any good. Socially, students laughed at him, either as the class jester or a purposeful oaf but they would soon come to fear him as well. In his youth, Connor acted with absurd zeal and recklessness, with such innocence in his soul. They never thought him capable of making a weapon, and to bring that weapon in their classroom to show off. Loaded with lead shrapnel and cocked with a hammer’s strike, it spared little mercy for the thick walls of their classroom. Its iron barrel smoked with the smell of brimstone. The wooden chassis and stock strangely, did not catch fire nor did it deconstruct from the force.When the teacher saw the destruction wrought by his weapon, Connor became something worse than fear. They looked at him and no longer saw a boy in his silhouette. His ‘Shrapnel Cannon’ was confiscated and the professors discussed among themselves, the fate of a little boy who became unfathomable. In a compromise of mercy and hope, Connor Goody was left to be homeschooled under the provision of Willowfield Academy. That day was his mind’s very unraveling. He realized that he’d become a force of nature, something they would dread because he was inevitable. If they crossed paths with him, they were surely destined to be destroyed. Unsure of this destiny, he often pondered in silence. His mind was the only sanctuary he could spill his own thoughts in. It was only ever so often when he’d spill beyond the confines of his mind palace and truly let people see who he was. And often, what spills was something utterly disturbing.

. . . “It's okay, everything is okay.” He muttered as he heard from beyond his hollow, the wailing and walloping of an unknown creature. He took deep breaths, trying to recover from the long and depriving sprint he’d taken to get here.

“The hollow protects me. The hollow protects me. The hallowed protects me.”

He rocked back and forth, pondering what to do next. The talisman would not hold the raging and reaving of this dark abomination for any longer. Soon, the claws of the bear it disguised as will strike strong enough to fell the fragile twigs planted to the ground.

“Heed me well, little child. When your little tricks are exhausted, I will not make your death easy. You will suffer as you’ve made me hunger. You’re the one who freed me from that accursed seal, you’re the one who let me in, now let me FEAST.”

Its voice was disgusting, like a feral beast who hungered not because it starved but simply because of gluttony. It was the voice of a person well-kept and charming, but a person it was not. Its pitch black tendrils shaped like bramble vines crawled out and moved unnaturally swift from within the bear’s mouth. Another, far larger tendril extended from a wound on its chest, striking with the lead of the other tendril.

Connor was hesitant, his left hand was placed upon a box where in it lay dormant, the very treasure he sold his soul to the demon for. A treasure he wanted back. Whether it was for any important reason or not, something beckoned him to get it back despite the cost.

“No. I can’t use it. What would momma say?”

He spoke to himself.

“She’d want us to stay safe.”

“But I don’t want to-“

“Don’t want to do what? Stay alive? You don’t want to see mom again?”

“I don’t want to become a monster!”

“We were born one!”

He was silent. Nearly bringing himself to tears over his own conversation. He took the key from his pocket and unlocked the box.

“Fix yourself, Connor. We don’t cry. We’re different. We have to do this. It is our duty.”

He nodded.

When the talismans gave way, the beast smiled. Its malformed grin revealed the half-rotting insides of the bear. Each step was a heavy symphony of doom and anticipation. It salivated umbral colored liquids that spill with the consistency of molasses.

“My little… sacrifice…I’m collecting my end of… the bargain…”

As the tendrils lifted the willow tree’s leaves, it was met with a sudden glimpse into hell. Yes, there was a monster here, and it was no longer this freakish abomination. It was a stout young boy wearing a raincoat. He held with his left hand, a hand cannon far larger than he should be able to carry. His brown hair glowed orange in the merciless fire that emitted from the barrel, the same light would reflect from his circle framed glasses as the smoke covered the lens with winter frost. His grimace would turn to an awful grin, one that delighted in the damage he caused. He looked at the poor thing and marveled at the flesh bits that scattered. It exposed the “creature” within. It was a shambling mound of would-be horrors made of black umbral matter with the consistency of tar. It would move and struggle but regrow in places lightning-quick.

“I like this.”

He muttered. With this thumb, he pulled back the hammer and aimed for what seemed to be its core: a spherical mass that bulged and beat like a heart.

A loud click rang through his head and he woke up.

Connor fell asleep in his hollow again. Box in hand, his arms and shirt covered with ink from his inkpot. His journal did not survive it either. A large ugly blot mark was left on it that looked vaguely familiar.

“I didn’t like that.”

While he scrambled and prepared to leave, Connor’s eyes were distracted. The yellow-flared morning light made gold of all that it touched and rudely invaded past his hollow’s covers….His misery eroded quickly with the sun’s gentle touch. He slung his raincoat over his shoulder and walked with a slight spring in his step.

“Debts to be paid and explanations to be made,” Inhale…exhale… “but today, I’ll smile.”

Chapter 3

Deep Breaths

He took a deep breath, taking in the dark night’s view of the town. Its lights illuminated the wet and heavy fog. If you squinted, they would look like spirits floating in the void. Aaron held in his hands the skull of a Willowfield Horse. A beast of might and unrivaled courage, they ruled the lands and still, they continue their reign to the present day. This horse skull was the skull of his father’s dearest friend within the woods. That night, he donned the coat his father often wore. A leather coat made from the skin of a bull. It was tough but the leather had begun to crack and peel.

“I grew into it.”

His eyes were unfocused, lost in his own thoughts.

“But the guilt doesn’t leave.”

He put aside the skull and began to dig into the soft mud, excavating the roots of the grass.

“We all used to go up here. Now it’s just me.”

Mindlessly, he took a finger and began to draw something on the mud. He drew it as if he’d done this a thousand times before. The cold chills it brought didn’t bother him, not one bit.

“Tell me. Where did you go?”

When he was done, he took the skull and placed it amid the circle.

He took a deep breath.

Aaron Crowe, one born so peculiar as to possess powers beyond his own imaginings. That stars to him were more than twinkling rocks beyond the sky’s reach. That to him, the wind tells secrets hidden far kept in the deepest corners of the mind. His body and soul were attuned deeply to the universe, rooted deep like trees ancient and unmoved for centuries. Despite the torturous noises, visions, and hallucinations, he lived and appeared like a normal child. The true nature of his existence, hidden behind plain books, white polo shirts, and overalls. Within, was something sinister yet graceful in a way only angels could ever be.

Suffice to say, life was not simple for him. But grace was spared on him, for many more mysteries continue to envelop his past and his future. It all started with the mysterious disappearance of his father. The only thing he left were his most precious belongings: the skull of a willowfield horse and his old coat. He promised to Aaron that he would return in one week’s time but it’s been years. Aaron was just a boy then, but soon, when the sun rises, he would become a young man. His mother used to be an open book who wore her heart on her sleeve, but ever since her husband left, she’d become reserved, her once loud and energetic heart had closed itself off from the world. Her love remained but she never ran like she did, sang her little poems of love, nor did she dance like no one was watching. It was this shift that made the things inside Aaron’s mind to grow stronger and louder. Until they whispered in his ears. And they did not sound like devils or angels nor were they ghosts. They whispered because they were far and their voices could scant be heard. Its speech was smooth like slick, silvered like holy objects, and spoke of hellfire and brimstone. They would prod and poke, playing with his heartstrings like a fiddle. It was a darkness within him that he let fester and isolate him. There was no point in fighting back, he was born this way, born wrong -cursed.

So there he knelt, taking deep breaths as his clothes were stained with the night’s sin and stained with the long-dried blood of those devoured by history. He gave in to the demands of this… thing. It claimed itself a king, a salvation from his lonely idleness, a bearer of wisdom that would give him everything he wanted, as long as he fell the pillar that sealed him. It crawled from the ground, a strange goop that crawled and struggled. Its voice sounded like the clicking of a thousand beetles, and its eyes scattered across its formless unholy body. It mimicked the shape of his body, mirroring every part, copying what it sees.

“We love you.”

He didn’t budge or hesitate, he didn’t care. But he felt something unfamiliar.

“Let us… embrace…”

Its arms spread wide, the dark goop unfurled wide as if to copy the gesture of hugging. It stumbled and struggled, inching closer and closer to him. A cold and striking wind crawled into his skin.

“We… are the same…”

As soon as it touched him, Aaron felt a chill like never before, it crawled through his chest, down his spine, and pierced his heart. It was like death. Slowly, the thing burrowed into his heart, blackening its pale red beating, becoming one with it.

“Now we… are… alive…”

He took a deep breath.

All that was left here were the smashed pieces of a small white pillar, the ground beneath it slowly consuming each piece, planting the rocks like tombstones. The horse skull was left untouched but dimly glows with a strange power Aaron could sense.

“Do not touch it…”

Aaron ignored the voices as he often did and touched the skull. Upon feeling the smooth dry surface, he was met with a burning sensation. His fingers recoiled as the heat grew but no fire was around to make it.

“It rejects us… you… but we… we love you…”

He felt disgusted with himself. What has he done, letting a stranger in his heart.

“You were empty. Your heart had a hole only WE could fill.”

Their voices grow louder, their grasp of his body is stronger than before, almost like they’ve begun to possess him. In resistance he’d doff his father’s coat, nearly subjecting himself to their control.

“Do what we say, Aaron, we know what’s good for you.”

And wrapped the skull in it.

“You’re no longer you.”

He was no longer himself.

“Crowfoot.”

As he carried home what felt like a ball of flame, truth began to spill into his ears. His pale olive skin, frail as paper, his soul was black as ink, dark as void. He ran and he ran, he did and he learned, but those lessons, he couldn’t use them. He’d gone and lost himself in a cave, wherein lies a beast starved for a thousand years.

He could barely utter a word, he was shivering as he ran through the wet hills, his mouth was barred with guilt, his gut ached with regret. What have you done? “Mom…”

His regrets had come to spiral, the thoughts and the should haves and should not have, ceaselessly scolded him. They pelted his back like hail and hit his head with rocks.

“Mom…”

But in the chaos of distress and disarray, one memory comes to mind.

“Mom…”

He took a deep breath.

What have you done?

Chapter 4

Don’t Be Afraid

“Mistakes. I make thousands of them. I’m so tired of making them. I can’t ever make one but I do. All the time. So here I am, sitting beside my window. Wondering: what could’ve been.”

Christine Lee, seventeen years of age, stands as the epitome of excellence. Her collar was clean as the day it was bought. The same could be said for her boots, her gloves, and handkerchief. Not a drop of blood or spit spilled from her, not even in childhood. She was always the reserved sort, never raised her voice, ran her mouth or talked back. She was the town’s ‘golden girl.’

But within lay the desire to let loose, to break free from the white-gray stone cocoon of hers, to become who she could’ve been.

Lately, this desire of hers has become obsessive. To the point of her keeping twigs, rocks, and shiny pieces of scrap left near forest trails. Obsessing over what they were, where they came from, and the scent on them. She would hide her little trinkets and tchotchkes in sub-compartments of her drawers, wardrobes, or underneath her floorboards.

She would journal her findings and the things she suspects them to have originated from. Each entry goes into at least two paragraphs of extremely detailed hypothesis, conclusion, and footnotes on the discovery of an object. One note she could never forget was when she met a peculiar lady in the forest.

“I think she was the same age as me. She was beautiful, her white curly hair looked like willow tree leaves. She wore a pair of shaded spectacles and her clothes were dirty. When I said hello, she turned around and I saw the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen my entire life. Her skin was brown as oak, oily and dirty, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her smile was brighter than the afternoon sunlight, even now I still think of her, I think she was talking to the plants when I met her. She referred to them as her friends who told her things. Turns out, she’s blind! I was confused and bewildered. How was she not afraid? How was she not scared to get lost? But she had this devil may care attitude. She was carefree and well… free. I think we’re friends now. She told me to meet again at the same spot, but I’m worried she’ll get lost. I told her this and she just looked at me and smiled before running off.”

Camilla Flos Bechard. Despite her blindness, Flos was never one to be afraid. Perhaps that was another thing was born without but regardless of that, her bravery is something peculiar and unfamiliar to the people of Starfield. To her, the world was a playground and the word risk was just a word in the dictionary.

It was in the thick of the wood where she would find something truly extraordinary. The plants spoke to her. They were like people but nicer and they would tell her their names, their stories, what they’ve heard, and who they felt. They were just like her, they couldn’t see but they could feel the world around them. They can hear songs from times beyond the birth of her grandmother, they still hear them then.

“I want to hear it too.”

So they embraced. She ate of their fruits and their leaves and spoke the words only they understood.

And she saw what they saw. The ground unending, the world revolving, the skies unmoving. And heard what they heard. The natives of Starfield, the megafauna that had long ago existed and bonded with humanity, the voice of a prophet and the war his daughter ended.

She was scared but they told her not to be.

“Trust us.”

It whispered. Flos was not sure anymore, her brave disposition was displaced, she truly was a girl lost in the woods.

“You are our friend. You hear us. You know who- whom we were.”

And she was their child, they’ve watched over her since she was a babe.

“I trust you.”

With trembling hands she reached out and the trees held her hands. They guided her with one step to another, then another, until she could run. Life was a playground for her was a playground. There was another thing she heard from the memories of these trees. The pain and suffering caused by an entity made of ink and hell. It was no celestial being, not a human, nor was it some sort of beast. It was a monster beyond sight. That all who looked upon its horror shattered into a million pieces as if looking into the void as if it had already defeated them by burrowing into their hearts, by making them afraid of everything.

“Will it return?”

“It wills its return.”

#writing #yay!!! posting a draft!!!#Not the final product #constructive criticism please

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oneyeartoparty · 3 years ago

Text

The brothers react to discovering they’re MC’s biggest fear

Wow the last few weeks have been hectic for me. Been feeling incredibly alone and don’t have anyone to talk to and found out I need surgery which will happen sometime soon. I’m glad to have gotten to motivation to get this out for you guys. I’ve a request coming next so keep an eye out. This one is based on how MC has been through so much and what if this affected MC greater than they realized? I hope you all enjoy this =)

WARNING: This react has spoilers for all of Obey Me up to Chapter 60

This story contains: Blood, mentions of death/murder, traumatic experiences.

Lucifer

Lucifer is cautious as he enters the room the bogeyman is hiding in with MC in tow. Few things scare him, but what does are things he’d rather MC not know about.

Still, above all else he wants MC to be safe. If that means they find out something about him he’d rather them not know about, then so be it. Their safety and happiness are his priority.

As the bogeyman before them begins to warp its shape, he puts up his guard. With their combined power, Lucifer is sure the bogeyman, no matter which form it takes will be a triviality to deal with.

MC is too consumed by fear to see the shock and guilt consume Lucifer as, surprisingly, the bogeyman turns into him.

“Did you think you wouldn’t face consequences for your actions, MC? You’ve broken so many rules, interfered so much, that it's time you paid for your insolence with your pathetic human life!”

The real Lucifer was quick to banish his fake as it pounced on them. With it gone, he focused his full attention on MC, who was completely still, gazing at where the bogeyman once was.

He knelt, taking their hands in his own, rubbing them gently to slowly calm MC down. He told them he was sorry he’d scared them so badly. He would do whatever it took to fix his horrible mistake.

With a kiss to the back of their hand, he promised for as long as MC loved him, he would never do something to make them so scared again.

Mammon

Mammon was already terrified at the thought of facing the bogeyman again. Even a fake Lucifer was terrifying, and it was something he didn’t ever want to see again.

Still, with some gentle coaxing from MC, he followed them to face down the bogeyman. Once they enter the room, he moves behind MC to hide, while simultaneously bragging about how unafraid he is.

A rumbling begins that causes Mammon to jump. He sinks behind MC, awaiting the appearance of Lucifer, but to his surprise, nothing happens.

At first, Mammon is ecstatic! They’d easily banished the bogeyman without a scratch or scare. He is soon brought back to reality when he hears MC’s panicked cries.

“Mammon? Mammon can you hear me? Please don’t leave me again. Lucifer said you’d look after me and I’m confused and scared. Please come back, I won’t be annoying anymore. Please.”

At that moment Mammon comes to the horrible realisation that his abandonment of MC during their first few weeks in the Devildom when he saw them as nothing more than a burden had taken its toll.

He hugs them desperately, telling MC over and over that he is here and that if they wish it, he will never leave their side again. He tells MC that he’s sorry and that he loves them.

From then on, Mammon sticks to MC like glue. No matter where they go, he’ll follow unless they say otherwise. He promises to always be there to make sure they know they’re adored and never, ever alone.

Leviathan

It takes a lot of convincing to get Levi to accompany MC to confront the bogeyman, but he decides to go because the thought of MC going alone is something far worse than a fake, albeit horrifying copy of Lucifer.

Instead of Lucifer, however, what appears is another version of him in his demonic form. It looks furious, its tail flicking back and forth, knocking over lamps, leaving holes in the wall and smashing the window.

Levi though it would target him. After all MC had protection right? But it became clear and the creature turned to MC, its rage only increasing as it began to shout at the scared human.

“YOU CHEATED MC! I’M THE BIGGEST TSL FAN, NO ONE CAN BEAT ME IN A TSL QUIZ WITHOUT CHEATING!”

His copy keeping screaming at MC, looking ready to pounce at any moment. The real Levi for his part wanted to scuttle out of the room and forget what had happened. But he was spurred on by his love and need to protect MC.

Using his considerable power, he banished the bogeyman, the false version of him fading with a shrill shriek, leaving only MC cowering in fear.

Levi rushed to them, hugging them, peppering them with kisses (something that will later bring a blush to his face) and promising them he’ll never do anything to make them that scared again.

He keeps his word and is also careful to manage his temper when it comes to his passions while MC is around. He also does his best to work with them to help them overcome their fear.

Satan

Satan isn’t fearful of the bogeyman as he entered the room with MC. He wants the creature gone, especially after it scared his brothers so badly. Upsetting his brothers like that is not something he will let go of so easily.

He wonders what the creature will become when they encounter it. He doesn’t have any fears, at least any he will admit to himself, and MC has the blessing of Luke. Would it even be able to do anything against them at all?

As the door closed behind them the creature begins to morph. Satan decides to take this moment to banish it, wanting to be rid of it before it caused them problems. He pauses though when what appears before him is none other than himself in demon form.

“How DARE you compare me to Lucifer MC! How foolish I was to expect anything more from a sniveling, weak human. Now you’ll pay fo-.”

Before the copy has a chance to do anything more, Satan acts, banishing the creature from sight to some distant unknown realm.

The threat gone, he turned his attention to MC. They were still as stone, still scared of the image of him. Guilt floods him, and he rushes to MC, profusely apologising and begging them to forgive him. He has done so much damage to his love that he can’t forgive himself until MC is happy again.

Being the Avatar of Wrath, he will always have an angry side, but he does his best to calm down and refrain from getting out of control while MC is around. He also becomes far more affectionate, often snuggling with them as he reads them stories or watching cat documentaries.

Asmodeus

Asmo is worried about how ugly the bogeyman will make him. He knows that his greatest fear is being ugly, and it brings him genuine fear thinking of all the horrible, ugly versions of him the bogeyman could conjure.

The form the creature creates is of him, but he’s his normal, beautiful and dazzling self. He thinks it’s a trick for a moment, and he waits for the form to shift. Instead, it speaks, looking directly at MC.

“Why would I love someone like you? I’m perfection incarnate. You’re my plaything, someone I’ll discard like the rest. Don’t think my affectionate words are anything more than sweet nothings.”

Asmo turned to MC, who was now backed against the wall, their hand covering their face, but doing nothing to hide their sobs.

Asmo rarely becomes as enraged as he did at that moment. He isn’t one to not get angry, but true rage from his is rare. With all the fury and power he can muster he summons a portal and forces the bogeyman through, sending it somewhere it will never return from.

With the bogeyman gone, he turns his attention to MC. He approaches them slowly, moving beside them. He isn’t sure how to proceed. His heart is aching at seeing MC so upset and he wants them to smile that beautiful smile again.

He starts to name each and every part of MC and why he loves it so much. From their nose to their toes, he doesn’t stop until MC is smiling again.

From then on he showers them with affection and love. Every morning starts with a compliment and a loving kiss, and he always makes sure MC knows he couldn’t live without them.

Beelzebub

Beel enters the room first, wanting to shield MC from anything the bogeyman might decide to do. He’ll gladly endure whichever one of his fears the creatures summons if it means MC stays safe.

Despite his effort, as the bogeyman warps its form, what appears is him in his demon form. This form is angry, its stomach loudly growling also drowning out the angry words being spoken by the creature.

“WHY DID YOU EAT MY PUDDING, MC? THAT WAS MY PUDDING AND YOU’VE GONE AND EATEN IT. NOW WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO EAT?!?”

As the creature screamed and shouted the sounds of shattering plates and crumbling brick echoed around, though nothing in the room was touched.

MC was terrified, backing away until their back touched the wall, too overtaken with fear to move any further.

Not wanting MC to suffer any longer Beel focused on banishing the creature. Focusing his power, the creating began losing shape. It fought him, but eventually, it faded from sight, banished back to where it had come from.

After the bogeyman is defeated, Beel approached MC. They’ve calmed down now the bogeyman is gone, but it has affected them. He apologises for allowing his hunger to overtake him so much that it caused them to fear him so much.

He gently hugs them, promising he’ll do whatever he can to help them overcome their fear and to never let his hunger overtake him so badly again, two promises he seals with a kiss.

Belphegor

Deep down Belphie knows what he’ll see if the bogeyman targets him and shows him his greatest fear. But he doesn’t want to admit it. The reality of admitting it is too much for him.

He accompanies MC regardless. He knows that together they can overcome whatever is waiting for them.

But Belphie didn’t fully realise exactly what the bogeyman would become. It began to take shape the moment the door shut behind them, forming into him in his demon form, fresh blood dripping from his hands and tail and splattered all over his clothing.

“Guess you are just a stupid human, huh? Falling for my silly trick you deserve to suffer and die like this.”

MC is petrified, begging him to not hurt them. It was MC’s fear that inadvertently spurred on their magic, banishing the creature without them realising.

With the bogeyman gone, Belphie could only stare at MC. He didn’t realise how much what he had done hurt them, and now that he did, he feared no matter what he did he would only make it worse.

Everyone waiting outside bursts through the door after hearing MC’s cries, and goes over to comfort them. Belphie decides to leave and return to the mansion and begins avoiding MC, thinking it better he stayed away.

It takes MC approaching him with Beel for him to talk with him, rather than leave the room. They talk and both agree to work together and heal so they can move forward, starting their journey with a hug and a kiss.

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asweetprologue · 3 years ago

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me lámh le do lámh - Part V

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

They walked back in near silence, Geralt still dwelling on the swirling storm of guilt and yawning despair he found himself thrust into. Jaskier was quiet, unusually so, perhaps sensing Geralt’s sudden shift in mood. Geralt reminded himself once again that he wasn’t tricking Jaskier into anything. This wasn’t a marriage, not one that would be binding in any realm of men or even elves. It was a magic ritual he was using to save his friend’s life, he told himself firmly. That was all it could be, no matter how much Geralt’s heart demanded more.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Jaskier finally said, as they exited the stairwell they’d come down back onto one of the upper levels. “More than usual, I mean.”

Geralt gave a noncommittal hum, not even knowing where to begin in explaining his reticence. Jaskier shuffled along behind him, and Geralt could hear how he was clenching and unclenching his hands around the strap of his shoulder bag, the leather creaking. “Are you… having second thoughts about this? It’s quite the undertaking, I understand, and if you feel it’s not worth it—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt snapped, “shut up. I’m fine.” His skin felt raw and overexposed, as if he’d downed one too many potions. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this unmoored, not since the early days of gaining his Child Surprise.

He could feel Jaskier bristle behind him even before he spoke. “Well forgive me for checking in,” the bard bit out. “Gods forbid I do something that reminds you that I care.”

Geralt sighed through his nose, clenching his teeth. He could not take this out on Jaskier, not when this was a situation he’d fabricated for himself. “I know you do, Jask,” he said, the closest thing he felt he could muster now to an apology. “That’s why we have to do this. I—” the I care for you too died in his throat, too close to the truth for comfort. “I need you around,” he settled on, still too much, too revealing. But Jaskier deserved to know that whatever Geralt might be feeling, he wanted to do this. He needed to do this.

“Of course,” Jaskier said, sounding tired for some reason. “For Ciri, I know. But if it’s such a burden, you can always ask Triss, you know. Or Vesemir, or any of your brothers. If you don’t want to do this, I’m the last one who will force you to go through with it.”

Geralt struggled to find the words to convince Jaskier of his intentions without giving himself away, and failed. The silence stretched on between them, a condemnation, and Jaskier heaved a sigh before pushing ahead. “Forget I said anything,” he muttered, head down as he stalked forward. Geralt opened his mouth to say something, anything to smooth out the defensive line of Jaskier’s shoulders, but nothing came out. He had nothing to offer that wouldn’t drive Jaskier even further away.

So after a moment, he followed in silence.

He allowed the distance between them to persist, Jaskier walking some thirty feet ahead of him. If he’d been closer, perhaps he would have seen the crack in the floor, or heard the grinding of stone. As it was, he looked up as Jaskier gave a sharp gasp of surprise, just as the sound of crumbling rock reached him. Jaskier turned and Geralt caught one look of shock on his face before he was suddenly gone, swallowed by the fragile earth.

Geralt shouted, an abstract sound of panic, and dashed down the passage to the hole that now marred the cavern floor. Heedless of the crumbling edge, he flung himself down to peer into the darkness. The floor here was clearly directly above another tunnel or cavern, and the ancient supports must have given way somewhere, making the ground unstable. The space below was utterly dark; not even Geralt’s enhanced eyes could pierce the darkness. Jaskier’s torch had gone out in the fall, probably crushed by rubble. He didn’t know if it was ten feet down or one hundred. Jaskier could be lying below him, bones shattered on the unforgiving ground, head cracked open—

Geralt swallowed past the nausea that rose in him at the thought. Leaning over the chasm, he called out, “Jaskier!”

There was no answer, and Geralt couldn’t breathe.

“Fuck,” he said, fumbling at his belt, “fuck, fuck.” He pulled out his potion pouch and dug until he found the Cat, throwing the bottle carelessly aside after he’d taken a few quick mouthfuls. After a few seconds, the cave around him bloomed into focus, all shades of sharp grey. He squinted down into the hole again, eyes seeking. It was still dark, but now with the Cat coursing through his veins he could make out vague shapes. It looked like the floor of the lower level was ten to fifteen feet down, cluttered with the rubble from the above passage. Geralt sucked in a sharp breath when he spotted a limp figure lying amongst the debris.

Without thinking, he slid his legs down into the chasm and dropped.

It wasn’t a far drop, not for a prepared witcher. He landed on the balls of his feet and allowed the impact to roll up through him, only barely twinging his bad knee. What made him sway was seeing Jaskier, in clear focus now, sprawled out between the rocks that littered the floor. He was so still, his head turned away from Geralt, and for a moment he was frozen, unable to bring himself to approach. If Jaskier was—if he was dead—

Geralt forced himself forward.

He heard the heartbeat first, and the relief that coursed through him was so overwhelming he could only stumble the rest of the way to Jaskier’s side. He dropped to his knees, reaching out to touch his face gently. This close, he could smell the irony tang of blood, and when he turned Jaskier’s head he could see a smear of dark on the stone below. He swallowed heavily. Head wounds bled a lot, of course, it might not be too bad. But they could also be deceptive, especially in humans. He wasn’t sure how far the damage went, if Jaskier’s brain had taken any injury, or his spine. He hovered for a moment, indecisive.

Jaskier stirred, groaning.

“Don’t move,” Geralt snapped, slipping his hand behind Jaskier’s neck to cradle his head.

Jaskier paid him no mind, shifting minutely and wincing as he did so. “Owch,” he said, thickly. “Geralt?”

“You fell.” Geralt kept his hand in place, lifting his other to prod gently at the cut on Jaskier’s forehead. It was hard to see in the dark, Cat making everything indistinguishable shades of black and white, but he could see that it wasn’t exceptionally deep. It seemed like he’d landed feet first, and then fallen and hit his head afterwards. If he’d landed face first, Geralt assumed things would be a lot messier. “Do you remember?”

Jaskier twisted, shuffling until he was on his back instead of his side, panting up at Geralt. He was squinting, and Geralt wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or just because it was dark. There was almost no light down here, and Jaskier’s dull human eyes were probably utterly blind. Geralt kept his hand in place, steadying Jaskier’s head, not wanting him to injure himself further. “Ban Aine. Ruins. Fucking floor. You were being a dick.” He let out a disgusted sound. “Ow.”

“You probably have a concussion,” Geralt said, relief and affection swimming up through him and merging oddly with his lingering guilt. It wasn’t truly that far of a fall, though he wasn’t entirely sure how far humans could fall. Geralt could probably have made it twice the distance and been perfectly fine; Jaskier seemed alright except for his head. “Need to know if it’s safe to move you. Any pain in your neck? Can you move your fingers?”

He watched as Jaskier slowly took stock, clenching and unclenching his hands, moving carefully. Nothing hurt aside from his head, it seemed, and Geralt allowed himself to breathe out some of the worry that was compressing his lungs. Jaskier was fine. A little dizzy from the growing knot on his head, but otherwise fine. Unable to help himself, Geralt pressed forward until their foreheads were just barely touching, careful of the bump just below Jaskier’s hairline.

Jaskier exhaled slowly. “Don’t tell me you were worried, witcher,” he said, his voice gently teasing.

Geralt just breathed for a moment, letting the horrible fear that had overtaken him rest behind his breastbone. “Sorry,” he said, trying to keep his grip on the back of Jaskier’s neck gentle. “For being a dick.”

Jaskier snorted softly, reaching up to card his fingers briefly through Geralt’s hair. The touch smoothed away the tense, tight feeling that had been playing across Geralt’s skin since he saw Jaskier tumble from his sight. “It’s alright. I’m quite used to the dramatics of witchers. Besides, now you have to be nice to me. I’m an invalid.”

“And you call me dramatic,” Geralt said, unable to keep the helpless fondness from his voice. “Think you can move?”

“Mm, yes, I have an absolute fucker of a headache but otherwise all limbs seem to be in their place. And I still don’t fancy spending the night down here. Where are we?” Jaskier’s head began to turn before he clearly thought the better of it. It wouldn’t have helped, anyways; the tunnels were pitch black. “Can you see?”

“Took some Cat,” Geralt grunted, standing. He tucked Jaskier’s hand into his own and helped lever him to his feet. The bard sucked in a breath at the change in elevation. Geralt was sympathetic; moving around wasn’t going to be helping his head at all. He stayed close, ready to offer his support, which was why he was so quick to reach out when Jaskier took one step forward and his right knee gave out. Geralt caught him by the arm as Jaskier hissed, half sharp inhale and half curse. “Shit,” he bit out, clinging to Geralt tightly. “Oh fuck that hurt, Melitele’s tits—”

“Where,” Geralt demanded, throat tight again.

“Must have twisted my ankle when I landed on it,” Jaskier panted, managing to sound wry despite the way his face was twisted up in pain.

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “Too dark down here to look at it. Come on.” Jaskier made a noise of protest as Geralt began to pull away, but it was cut off abruptly as he reached down and swept his arm under Jaskier’s knees. The bard tumbled into his chest with a surprised gasp, one of his arms coming up around Geralt’s shoulders, clutching at his armor. The gasp quickly turned into a small grunt of pain, and Geralt tried to keep his movements steady enough that Jaskier’s head wouldn’t be jostled too much.

Jaskier gave him a dazed look as Geralt settled him. “Oh. My hero,” he said. Geralt was a bit worried by how breathy his voice suddenly sounded; if he was that winded from even that much light movement his head might be more injured than Geralt thought.

Geralt didn’t respond, more interested in getting them out before the Cat wore off. From their position he could see that the tunnel they were currently in—more of a path, really, with clear man-made walls—was elevated on one side. It was as good a lead as any, and he started up the slope.

It took perhaps half an hour for them to make their way back to the upper level, Jaskier tucked against Geralt’s chest as he navigated the winding corridors. Luckily it was fairly easy to tell when the air was closer to the surface. The tunnels that led lower into the ruins carried with them the stale scent of stone and ancient rot, so Geralt turned away from them and followed those that smelled fresher. They soon made their way back to what Geralt judged was the same level as where they’d left, though he couldn’t say whether they were in the same area. He could find no evidence of the hole that Jaskier had left behind, but eventually they reached a crumbled section of the wall that carried the scent of clean spring air. They had to squeeze through the narrow, natural crack in the rock beyond it, Jaskier set down in front of Geralt to limp his own way through. It had been too constricted to carry him, but Geralt still chewed on his cheek as he listened to Jaskier’s pained grunts of concentration.

Finally they stumbled out into the open air again—fully on the other side of the ruins from where they’d entered.

Geralt reached out a hand to steady Jaskier before he could fall, and the bard shot him a grateful look. Gently, Geralt pressed onto his shoulder until he was forced to sit on a rocky outcropping near the entrance to their little escape path. “Stay here,” he instructed. “I’ll go get Roach and we can make camp again on this side.”

Jaskier’s brows pinched together. “But we already made camp on the other side,” he said. His eyes were squinted again, but this time Geralt expected it was because the setting sunlight was hurting his head. Geralt wasn’t faring all that much better, though the Cat would probably be leaving his system soon. At the moment the world was overexposed, all the color leached out while the sky and reflections of sunlight on the surrounding rocks blinded him.

“You’re injured,” was all he said. “Just wait here.”

Jaskier pouted, and Geralt felt something unclench in his chest at the expression. If he was being a brat he couldn’t be feeling too bad. “Fine, witcher. But I think you’re being dramatic again.”

Geralt just raised an eyebrow at him. Jaskier huffed as if he knew exactly what Geralt was thinking. Hypocrite.

“Don’t get into trouble,” Geralt instructed, and then turned to make his way back to the other side of the ruins.

By the time he collected Roach and made it back to the rocky outcropping, it was nearing dusk. He muttered a few choice curses under his breath; it would be difficult to treat Jaskier’s wounds in the dark. As he rounded the bend in the ruins he had a moment of unbridled panic; the place he’d left Jaskier was vacant. It faded after a moment, however. Jaskier’s scent was still thick on the air, lavender and campfire smoke masked by a superficial irony tang. He found the bard tucked against a pillar, out of immediate view. Geralt released Roach’s reins to kneel next to him, reaching out to wrap a hand around Jaskier’s shoulder again. The bard startled under his fingers, moaning when the sudden motion jostled his head. The befuddled expression he turned on Geralt was tense with pain, but endearing despite it.

“You fell asleep,” Geralt informed him, his stomach twisted up with affection and worry. Gods, being in love was unbearable.

“Oh,” Jaskier said, reaching up to scrub a hand over his face. “Sorry. Roach?”

“Got her,” Geralt replied. “I’m gonna set up camp and then I’ll tend to your ankle.”

Jaskier didn’t look immediately thrilled by the prospect.

Geralt set up camp in record time, tossing out their bedrolls and lighting a few pieces of wood with igni, probably the sloppiest fire he’d ever put together. Once finished he helped Jaskier over to one of the bedrolls, sitting him down and pulling over the bag that they kept their basic medical supplies in.

There wasn’t a lot he could do for the ankle. If it was truly sprained it might help to brace it, but in reality Jaskier was just going to have to keep off of it for a few days. The head he could at least tend to, and he did, using boiled water to wipe away the tacky blood from where it had dripped over Jaskier’s forehead and clotted in his eyebrow. Jaskier winced away from the gentle pressure, but the wound didn’t start bleeding again, which Geralt counted as a win. Once done he checked the rest of Jaskier’s head for other bumps, but there was nothing aside from the one on his forehead. He was lucky; if it had been the back of his head he’d certainly have a raging concussion. As it was he seemed mostly fine, if a little dazed and photosensitive. Hopefully a few good night’s rest would see to that.

The ankle he did what he could for, strapping two branches on either side of Jaskier’s foot and pinning them down with bandages. It wasn’t professional work, but it would keep him from moving it too much while he slept. When he was finally finished Geralt tossed the bloody rags away and sighed, eying his handiwork.

Jaskier, who had been curiously silent through the entire production, said, “This certainly flips the script a bit, mm?”

Geralt blinked at him, pulled from his focus on Jaskier’s injuries. “What?”

Jaskier gave him a lopsided grin, almost sheepish. “Usually I’m the one patching you up,” he said. His eyes lost focus slightly, staring down at Geralt’s armor vacantly. “I think I like being on this side of things better.”

Geralt swallowed. He knew he should say something lighthearted, tease Jaskier about just liking the pampering, but instead he said, “I don’t.”

Jaskier’s gaze focused back on him, and eyebrows raised in a startled expression. And then the grin was back, wider than before but somehow more brittle. “Well then,” he said, “is the great Geralt of Rivia admitting that he cares?”

Something about his tone was missing the typical teasing lit, more self deferential than anything. As if he already knew the answer, and it wasn’t one he favored. Jaskier knew that Geralt wasn’t as emotionless as the tales claimed; he had seen first hand how Geralt had once twisted himself up over Yennefer, how devoted he was to Ciri, the affection he had for his brothers. Which meant that Jaskier just didn’t think Geralt cared about him.

It made Geralt want to fight something, or to pull Jaskier close and tell him just how wrong he was. He swallowed against the urge to reach out, instead looking down and needlessly adjusting the bandage around Jaskier’s ankle. “It’s not just for Ciri,” he admitted, allowing some part of the truth to float to the surface. Jaskier deserved at least that much.

“What?”

“It’s not—I don’t just want you around in case something happens. I mean, I do, of course, Ciri loves you, but.” Why was this so hard? Jaskier made finding his words seem so easy, effortless from years of practice and natural talent. Geralt forced himself to take a steadying breath. “You’re a good travelling companion. You make my life… better.”

Jaskier just stared at him for a long moment, his lips parted slightly. Geralt wanted, with an acuteness that bordered on physical pain, to put his mouth there, like a punctuation to his declaration. Finally Jaskier gathered himself and said, “Oh, well… Thank you. That’s rather good to hear.”

Geralt nodded, turning away to deal with washing out the rags and seeing about making them something to eat. After a few minutes of silence he could bear the tension in the air no longer, and stood. “I’m going to see if I can catch something,” he said, grabbing his crossbow from its place on Roach’s saddle. “Shout if you need me, I’ll stay close.”

Jaskier nodded absently, just watching him as Geralt gathered up the things he would need for the hunt. Just as he was about to make his way into the trees at the edge of the ruins, he heard Jaskier’s voice behind him, across the campfire.

“You make my life better, too.”

And Geralt didn’t even know what to do with that, the way those words curled through him and around his heart. He fled into the forest without a backward glance, the oathstone sitting heavily in his pocket.

Halfway through!! And another piece of art to go along with it! The piece in this chapter is by the amazing @herostag, and I just adore it. The black and white because of Geralt taking the Cat is such a nice touch!

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #witcher #fanfic #fic #writing #my work #me lamh #multichapter #big bang #geraskierbigbang #herostag #art

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sacklerscumrag · 4 years ago

Text

Entre Las Montañas

Toby Grummett X Female Reader

Part I of II (Maybe III)

(Title translation: In Between The Mountains)

Notes: This one will have the tiniest bit of Spanish in it, all translations will be labeled in parentheses and italic :) It was my first time writing for Toby and I loved it. Hopefully I captured him well.

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 1.3K

(gif credit: @driverdaily)

The radiant array of colors brushed across the afternoon sky, casting long shadows on the ground throughout the charming Spanish village. Toby made his way down the cobblestone paths between the various artisan shops and cafes until he found what he was looking for. It had been years since his last visit to Raul's; with a new project on the horizon, he found himself drawn back to the place that once offered him so much inspiration.

Toby stepped through the beaded curtain of the small, well-kept bar giving the server a quick hello, and sitting down on one of the stools. His appearance was far from the ruggedness he dawned the last time he was in town. Wearing his cream-colored dress shirt and pants with his beloved leather loafers. With a swift point of a finger towards one of the wine bottles on the wall, the bartender poured him a drink.

Memories flushed Toby's head as he swirled the wine in his hand, piecing together what happened all of those years ago as he shut his eyes and shook his head slightly. The loss of Javier still wearing in Toby's thoughts as he took the last sip of his Tempranillo from the fractured bar glass. To take his mind off the inevitable guilt brewing inside of him, he gazed at his surroundings, and that's when he saw you. Tucked away in a far corner of the quaint bar, looming over your laptop, seemingly lost in whatever was in front of you.

Impossible, he thought to himself. Quickly setting a couple euros on the counter before walking over to you.

"Excuse me." He cleared his throat. Toby studied you, the way your whole demeanor had evolved since he last laid eyes on you.

"Toby?" You let out a deep breath before moving out of your chair to give him a hug. He sat at the table with you for a while, listening to where your life had gone in the time you two spent apart. Gazing at you as if you had set roots in this place; perhaps you had. But it did not matter; what mattered was that you were here now.

"Wow. That sounds fucking incredible. I-" Toby looked over to the clock on the wall, realizing time had gotten away from him. "Shit." You gave him a confused look when he abruptly planted his palms on the table, leaning into you. "Wanna get out of here? I was actually headed somewhere. It's sort of in the mountains and requires some walking if you're up for it."

"You're not going to kidnap me, are you?" You teased, making Toby chuckle. "Sure. Let's go."

In true Toby fashion, he didn't think twice before whisking you away on his motorcycle, driving aimlessly through the desolate area while you clung tightly to him. You lifted your head slightly, allowing the scent of oak and pine to engulf you. Perfectly textured mountains rose from all angles around you, growing in size as you got closer to them. Toby eventually brought the motorcycle to a stop in front of a large opening between some rocks.

"We walk from here." He hurriedly took off his helmet and helped you off the bike. You walked beside each other for a couple minutes before entering a strange-looking cave.

"Toby, where are you taking me?"

"It's a place an old friend of mine brought me to once." He ambled as he looked around, turning on the ball of his foot back towards you.

"I don't know about this. Feels like we're going to get lost through here." Approaching the other side of the cave, shreds of soft light spread down above you. Toby took two sizeable strides until he was centimeters from your face, cradling both of your hands in his as he spoke.

"You can, you must, you shall." He placed a kiss on your forehead, taking you with him further along the beaten path. Just over the hill was the most splendid view. The waterfall seeped and overflowed through the granite rocks perfectly placed along the mountain's sides. Pouring into the crystalline river that curved gracefully through the lush mountains as far as the eye could see.

Your gaze returned to Toby, who was setting up a small blanket in a shaded spot under a large tree by the water. Toby took a seat, stretching his legs before him, crossing one over the other while leaning back on his elbows. You wandered over to him, carefully settling in the cool shade—a crisp, occasional breeze swiping through while sending chills that spread across your skin.

"Bello, no?" (Beautiful, no?) Toby blurted, making you laugh. "What? My Spanish no te gusto?" You managed to stop long enough to look back at him before responding.

"No, no, it's not bad. Just needs some work. That's all."

"Then teach me." He said with a smug look on his face as he cocked his head towards you. You crossed your legs and scooted closer to face him, the close proximity making you feel a sudden warmth rise to your cheeks. "But first, we dance." Toby shouted as he jumped to his feet, pulling you into a tango-like stance with him. He splayed one hand on your lower back, the other softly cradling your fingers as you began to sway in sync with one another.

"What do you want to learn first?" You gazed up at him, relaxing into his embrace.

"Teach me how to say, I want to stay here forever." He beamed at you.

"Quiero quedarme aqui por siempre." Toby tried his best to repeat after you, occasionally taunting you, which in turn only made you break into a fit of giggles in his arms.

Toby fought a smile from spreading across his face when he felt you press your body closer to his. Resting his cheek on the crown of your head while you laid your cheek on his chest. His fingers tingled with delight, softly brushing against the exposed skin.

The possibility of you and him seemed so far out of reach. As easy as it was to lose himself in the daily chaos that was his life, a delicate flame of his love for you burned constant in the back of his mind. Making him wonder if you ever felt a surge of longing for him. Waking up every day aching for him, yearning for his touch all of these years.

"Ready? Now say it all together." His jaw clenched as he broke free from his train of thought; he could feel his heart bursting through his chest. Toby took in a deep breath before speaking as clearly as he possibly could.

"Creo que siempre he estado enomorado de ti." (I think I've always been in love with you) You glared at him in disbelief, unsure if your mind tricked you into hearing what your heart longed for. You tried to push him away, but Toby grasped your arm before you were able to.

"You already..." You whispered. He slowly released his grasp on your arm. "You know how to..."

"Of course I do. I spent way too much fucking time here, I learned a thing or two." Your eyes glossed over with tears as soon as his words started to sink in. Toby knew he had to speak and do it quickly before the moment fled. "And I meant it. What I said. Look, I don't know how this works. This whole us shit." He gestured between the two of you. "But I'm willing to try."

He came closer, lips barely brushing against yours. His hand delicately caressed your cheek, noses barely grazing. His scent, although intoxicating, made your knees weak; all of your senses felt like they were being overtaken by him. Your eyes met his with a sparkle of curiosity, threading your fingers through his hair. Toby anxiously awaited your response, succumbing to the possibility that you may not feel the same way.

"Toby I..."

Tag List: @han-not-solo @thegreenmatt @mariesackler @kkysolo @aloneandsleepless @transparentmeoo @desiraypark @hopeamarsu @historyandfandoms50 @roanniom @caillea @emeraldsiren19 @fizzywoohoo @direnightshade @thepriceofstars @jynzandtonic (please let me know if you would like to be added/removed at any time)

#i cant believe i actually finished this WIP #toby grummett #toby grummett x reader #the man who killed don quixote

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ziracona · 4 years ago

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Might be that someone already asked but give us your wisdom. Headcanons for Felix and Élodie

Initially, they’re just shocked to see each other again. And in the realm. They haven’t crossed paths since they were kids. But then almost immediately things are uncomfortable.

Élodie is the one who got the kids to go into the internment camp, /and/ who personally activated the sigil that brought the Entity to them all. She is directly responsible for the loss of her own parents and Felix’s and all the others. So, seeing him again, her first thought after surprise and relief at a familiar human is “Oh no. He hates me.” And she immediately becomes reactively and agressively defensive of herself and her past actions, predicting hostility that isn’t there yet.

Since Felix’s paragraph never even mentions Élodie, I have to assume she does not play super majorly into his own trauma memories actually and he doesn’t harbor intense resentment towards her, and probably both doesn’t blame her for being the one to push them into that trek, and simply know she activated the sigil. So, he’s surprised and relieved (even though it’s kind of awkward), and then kind of just hurt because she’s immediately reactive around him and almsot seems to resent him. He probably gets kind of pissed (understandably) like “Well you were the one who sent us down there—I don’t know why you’d hate /me/ over it” and that only makes stuff worse.

Felix is very easy to push around and terrified and takes a long time before he gets used to the realm. He is a cautious and hesistant man in general, and very very very out of his depth, both from being kind of rich and cushioned against life, and just by nature. He takes a long time to adapt and is miserable and scared, but he really does try.

Claudette, who is also miserable and scared, and Dwight, who was long the same before adapting, are especially nice to him and work to help him adapt. So are Tapp, Jane, Jeff, and Ace, who also try—especially Jane, who is well versed, and Tapp, who has experience—to comfort and reassure him about his wife giving birth without him there and his family waiting back home.

Felix misses his wife deeply and would never cheat on her and abandon her and his infant child back home on favor of a steamy realm romance. (I hold Felix ships in contempt >.> my boy has no reason to be regarded a cheater fuck off leave him alone. He’s a decent enough fellow.)

Élodie is a lot braver than Felix. She adapts to the realm quickly for average, as she is used to danger, pain, and hardship. However, unlike Felix, who is afraid and weak initially due to his complete lack of hardship experience, but is team-oriented, Élodie is used to working alone, and is not a great teammate for a while. She doesn’t mean to be cruel, and she’s not like, unfeeling or unsympathetic. But her own experience is so rooted in self-preservation and operating solo, she takes time to get used to having to share that burden with others. And kind of is resistant to it at first. It’s just...not what’s in her programming. It’s been a long time since other people were aside from in a trade and at arm’s length at best.

The survivors are such a big family though eventually Élodie is overtaken by their genuiness and affection. I think Jane and/or Kate and maybe Dwight talk to her at least once, about how this is affecting teams, or about the group’s way of operating and relationships, but I think really it’s just being saturdated in Claudette asking her for help gardening and explaining new poultices, and Meg doing movie scripts theatrically and asking her questions all the time like an (endearingly) annoying little sister, and Jeff and Tapp and Adam always there to save her and take a hit in a trial, people singing together at camp, Dwight passing her supplies to help her get started. It the family. She gets so slowly warmed up to being genuinely cared for and wanted that her walls start to go down, and she starts unlearning her instinctive reactions and begins fighting to save not just her but them too, them before her sometimes, just because it truly becomes what she wants.

Élodie is fasinated by learing any kind of information that could be useful and very dedicated, so she spends a lot of time with Dwight, Claudette, Jane, Adam, Zarina, and Tapp especially, trying to track down any information that could help them escape eventually and stuff to help then survive in the meantime. Bc of her previous life and knowledge, she is extremely useful at this.

Also gets along well with David/Kate/Laurie and Yui and Zarina. After dying, she really really wants to pick up as much fighting skill as she can.

Felix gets along pretty well with everyone, but hangs out more with the chiller activites people like Adam, Ace, Tapp, Jeff, Jane, or Dwight/Quentin/Claudette.

After arriving in the realm, Felix feels bad most of his skills seem less useful. After Dwight talks to him, he decides to so the little he can, and that even if he’s not got worlds of skills for fighting or escaping the realm, it matters at least a little he /can/ make peoples’ lives better. So he adds some rudamintery shelters to the campfire area so they have a few little actual kind of partial buildings now. He’s not the most personally skilled with tools, but he has an expansive knowledge of how to make things function well and last and be given proper support, so he and Jake make a good team when it comes to home construction.

Things with Felix and Élodie are tense for a while. They don’t fight, per se, but because she anticipates that he hates her and is automatically basically hostilely defensive towards him in preperation for that, Felix feels very disliked by her as well. With some interveigning from the others—especially Jane and Dwight—things get a little more cordial. And Felix starts trying to work hard to make things work and dedicatedly saving her in trials. Élodie hates this, she thinks/tells herself because he’s trying to be superior/sanctimonious towards her, but in reality because she is crippled with guilt over what happened a long time ago. Still, after a while, she starts trying to save him hard too to be just as good, and it’s hard to hate somebody who has rescued you from death, so unintentionally this ends up tricking them both into starting to be chill with and enjoy each other again.

Eventually, there is a breaking point when they’re alone—maybe it’s late at night and Élodie or Felix asks the other to step away to talk. Maybe it’s in a trial, and Felix is offering to die so she can take the hatch, and she just can’t take it anymore. But it happens, and Élodie breaks down and asks why he’s doing this and says she knows he must hate her, and tries to apologize and defend herself viciously at the same time, and it’s a mess, and Felix never knew she actually summoned the thing at all and it’s like getting kicked in the stomach, and he doesn’t even know what to say or think. For so long he’s blamed himself; he’s never blamed her. But he didn’t know it was her fault, and it kind of is, and she’s falling apart, and he’s so overwhelmed, and what is he supposed to say? Is he supposed to forgive her? Supposed to hate her? But. He thinks for a second. He lost everything, but so did she—so did all of them. And she didn’t know. Nobody warned them, their parents could have, and didn’t. And she was a kid. Kids make mistakes—that’s living, that’s growing up. Adults do too. And he doesn’t hate her, and it doesn’t matter if he blames her, because it doesn’t matter who /is/ to blame. They were all kids, and it was a tragedy, not an act of hate or maliciousness, and that’s all that matters. They both lost everything, and all that matters is they do the best they can with what they have now.

And that’s what he tells her. And it’s hard to accept, but she’s so relieved. She breaks down and cries and apologizes for real, no equivocations, no defense, just sorry, and he tells her there’s nothing really to forgive because it was an accident, but that if there was, he would, and they’re friends after that day. Almsot inseperably. She’s there to ask about his wife and baby he hasn’t got to meet yet and to encourage him like the best friend he never had growing up, and he’s there to hear her theories and long spiels on fascinating finds, and ask about home and what she truly wants if they make it back like the best friend she never had either, and because she finally has people she loves, she has answers to that now.

#I have given some before but I’ll try not to repeat 👀#dead by daylight #élodie rakoto #felix richter #dbd #ask #nnnnnngh

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pengiesama · 4 years ago

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Hello, Nurse! (Fic, TGCF, HC/XL)

Title: Hello, Nurse! Series: Heavenly Official’s Blessing (Tian Guan Ci Fu) Pairing: Hua Cheng/Xie Lian

Summary:

While Xie Lian can’t ever manage to come back from a mission in one piece, he’s at least got a sexy nurse waiting for him at home.

(As well as the best (and rudest) medical expertise that money can buy.)

Link: AO3

Read on Tumblr!

The troupe of demon bandits that Xie Lian had been asked to subdue certainly weren’t a challenge in themselves, but, well, an unlucky god was an unlucky god.

The black powder traps that the demons had set up around their camp presented Xie Lian with quite a predicament. Of course, he’d spotted and smelled them from a mile away, and moreover said traps were the oldest trick in the book. The real issue was that they were baited with human captives: any attempt to remove the captive would set off the trap, and set off a chain reaction along the line. Truthfully, it was a more clever setup than Xie Lian would have expected from a run-of-the-mill gaggle of demon bandits; if they’d only set their minds to less murderous goals, they would’ve had a much brighter future ahead of them.

(Or at least brighter than what their life path was currently leading to, which was Xie Lian’s fist shattering their skulls.)

Thus, Xie Lian was slightly delayed in what would have otherwise been a very simple pest-control operation. By the time Xie Lian had freed the last human captive and sent them running down the road to the safety of town with a protective talisman stuck to their backs, the bandits had roused themselves from their drunken sleep and rallied to attack.

Xie Lian was already finely dusted with black powder from his previous efforts; even though he dodged the barrage of flaming arrows, the heat caught the powder and set it off. The force from the powder’s ignition sent Xie Lian careening back into the bandits’ stash of booze, which only exacerbated Xie Lian’s then-current predicament. That is to say, he was set alight like a firework.

Now, this was hardly Xie Lian’s first rodeo when it came to being burned alive. Thus, despite feeling a bit embarrassed for tripping in public, and feeling more than a little agony, he was able to dispatch the demons with the blazing fury of a comet. Xie Lian was then presented with the peace and quiet needed to think and hatch a plan to put out the flames before they caused enough damage to put him out of commission for more than a few weeks.

This was where things got very silly. You see, the flames at that point had degraded Xie Lian’s vision, and thus while he was carefully searching about (not running! Xie Lian knew the rules of fire safety) for the sounds of a nearby river or body of water, he misjudged his steps and found himself tumbling ass-over-teakettle down a steep incline. Luckily, the sudden stop, drop, and rolling motion calmed the flames some, and the incline even ended with him being dumped into a river.

But, well, the river led into raging rapids, and then that’s when the landslide kicked off…

Xie Lian’s conscious swam back to him, slowly.

It was old hat, by now, getting injured and knocked out cold; as old hat as his old hat. It was so old hat, in fact, that he had already started the process of taking a mental inventory of his various injuries.

Broken leg? Yes, times two. Felt like…probably broken in two places in the one, and five places in the other.

Broken arm? Surprisingly, only one, it seemed.

Neck and back? Well, they were still present and attached to his person. This was about the only good thing he could say about their status.

Burns? Very yes.

His sight had yet to return, but his hearing had remained intact through the incident, despite being briefly blown out by the impromptu fireworks show. This, at least, was a blessing, as it allowed him to hear the soft, soothing voice of his San Lang as he spoke to him.

“…your highness. Are you awake? I’ve called the doctor. You’re in bed and I’m holding your hand.”

Xie Lian took his word for the latter part, as he couldn’t feel much through the pain of the burns. His throat was so dry. He wished he’d managed to drink some of the river water while getting thrashed about.

“…wa…w…” Xie Lian tried to croak out a request through his battered throat.

Almost immediately, without having to finish struggling the words out, he felt cool, blessedly cool water trickling down his throat. It soothed as it went; clearly having been charged with healing energy. Xie Lian felt a twinge of guilt even as he greedily continued to drink. The only reason he was in as relatively good a state as he was, was no doubt due to Hua Cheng’s efforts. Healing injuries of this magnitude with spiritual energy alone was no small feat. He knew that his San Lang would allow him to suck him dry. Panic began to flood Xie Lian as the memories surfaced; the memories of Hua Cheng doing just that.

Hua Cheng drew back, seeming to sense Xie Lian’s distress. Xie Lian’s throat and mouth were healed enough, now, for him to feel that Hua Cheng had been feeding him the water through a kiss.

“Does…does San Lang…always treat his patients so sweetly…?” Xie Lian managed to rasp out.

After a pause, Xie Lian heard him chuckle. Then, he vaguely felt himself being arranged more comfortably on the bed.

“No,” Hua Cheng said. “Not in the least, when it’s not His Highness in my care.”

Xie Lian made a thoughtful noise, as Hua Cheng very carefully move his splinted legs. “Of course…of course. That quilt; was it yours?”

Hua Cheng paused in his movements. The memories were hazy, for Xie Lian, and the words painful to say through his throat and the squeezing of his heart.

“Back then…at the, the quarantine settlement…for those affected…that helpful little nurse with the bandaged face…when I’d fallen asleep on the outskirts, sprawled out on the grass in full martial regalia…I woke to find some kind-hearted person had tucked me in, with their own quilt. What a sight I must’ve been. So silly-looking.”

Xie Lian could feel Hua Cheng holding his hand, now. His injuries were healing quickly under the care of such an attentive nurse.

“His Highness looked beautiful, as beautiful as he always did and always does,” Hua Cheng replied quietly. “Beautiful enough to make flowers bloom beneath him to serve as his bed.”

Xie Lian thought back, a bit confused. “Did that happen? I wonder why. Maybe I’d gotten some seeds stuck in my pockets from running around…”

Hua Cheng laughed in earnest at that. Xie Lian was almost, almost healed enough to be able to pout at being teased.

He heard the door to the room open, and heard Yin Yu attempt to get out an announcement before he was overtaken.

“Lord Chengzhu, Your Highness, please forgive the intrusion; this one wishes to announce the arrival of—”

“They know who I am,” the doctor cut him off. Xie Lian heard her approach the bed with speedy, single-minded purpose, and a heavy bag of tools and tinctures. “What now, eh? Smells like you got into a fight with a drunken fire dragon…”

Despite her sharp tongue, Lord Chengzhu trusted this particular ghost doctor with all of Xie Lian’s (frequent) medical emergencies. This trust was well-warranted – after the process of examination, treatment, and prescription of various follow-up medications, salves, and a list of dos-and-don’ts for physical activity, Xie Lian was already feeling fresher and revitalized.

“…and when I say no doing that until he’s finished convalescing, I mean no doing that, eh?”

…though perhaps sometimes Xie Lian found some of her instructions a bit hard to swallow. How was he supposed to not want to do that when he had such an irresistible nurse tending to him? The medical arts were inscrutable and cruel.

“Of course, yisheng,” Hua Cheng assured. “Please allow my assistant to show you to the reception hall, where yisheng may select a treasure from my collection that is to her liking, in addition to her standard fee…”

“None of those nonsense trinkets. Send over more research material and try to instill within your husband an ounce of self-preservation. It doesn’t come naturally to certain folk.”

Hua Cheng held his tongue, and Xie Lian heard the doctor’s footsteps leave the room. The bed dipped beside him, and Xie Lian felt Hua Cheng carefully, cautiously, curl the long length of his body against his side.

“Gege’s wounds are still tender,” Hua Cheng murmured. “Please let this one know if he’s upsetting them.”

Xie Lian managed to shake his head, which was an accomplishment. “San Lang’s nearness keeps me well.”

“Then I will remain forevermore,” Hua Cheng stated. “Blessed for the opportunity to fret over and pamper His Highness while he is helpless to insist otherwise.”

“San Lang—”

“Doctor’s orders.”

Xie Lian let his head fall back and groaned.

Truly, the road to wellness would be long and filled with more such teasing. Heavens help him.

#天官赐福 #tgcf #heavenly official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #hualian #a tenderly crafted fanfiction

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clansayeed · 4 years ago

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Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 25: The Faceless

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

A shocking confession leaves Nadya confused and Serafine on edge. But now isn't the time for them to be divided. When a hidden threat makes itself known, the only way they're getting out of the City alive is together... or not at all.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“Cynbel, please let her go.”

It’s not her lack of oxygen that has them on edge. Serafine is a vampire, she doesn’t need to breathe. But something about the sight of her slender neck and how fragile it looks in his broad palm makes Nadya — at the very least — starkly aware of how easily he could separate her head from the rest of her.

Jax is still as stone in her periphery but Nadya hears the all-too-familiar hiss of his katana handle dislodging from the sheath. That very sound has saved her life more than a fair few times but now, of all times, it only fills her with dread.

“Don’t Jax — he doesn’t…” she wishes she hadn’t looked back to see Serafine’s nails digging long red grooves into the pale arm that holds her captive; it��ll haunt her for years to come, “he doesn’t…”

What? He doesn’t know what he’s doing? That’s too tall a tale, one even Nadya herself can’t muster the energy to believe. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

She took everything from him. He’s just returning the favor.

“This isn’t what I wanted… if I had known… if someone had told me this is what I’d learn…”

Nadya almost throws her heart up on the ballroom floor. “Cadence?”

Nothing makes sense. Nothing made sense when she woke up the first day she knew vampires were a real, actual thing and they just haven’t made sense every hour of every day following. Even more now when she takes into account where she is — what she is notwithstanding. And all this happening right in front of her isn’t the exception.

But she knows what it looks like when Cadence is… overtaken by something out of his control. It doesn’t look like this.

With literally no confidence in what she’s doing or that she’ll survive the sheer idiocy of the attempt Nadya starts slowly moving towards them.

Adrian practically chokes. “Nadya—what are you doing?”

“Get the fuck over here—” hisses Lily, too. But the only one who actually does anything is Jax. Classic Action Man.

“Don’t you d—” Jax’s words get cut off, like most angry declarations do, when the back of Nadya’s hand collides with his face. Not that it was her complete intention but it does the trick and gets him to back away. Still she can feel him fuming behind her; hear the full whistle of his sword meeting the open ballroom air and every time his teeth grind together as he thinks up new ways to drag her back just as she ends up too far out of his reach.

“I can do this.” Nadya reassures them, even if she sounds a little meek doing it.

There has never been a point in her entire life where Nadya was taller than the next average human. She has a dozen more things wrong with her to have a complex about; her height is not one of them. But standing at his back Nadya can’t help but feel smaller than she really is. He’s not just tall now, is he? He’s weighed down with thousands of years and no guilt to speak of.

No, Cadence isn’t. Remember that… she has to remember that.

Steeling herself, Nadya reaches up and out with a hand that has no business being that steady when she’s ready to jump out of her own skin… and lays her palm on his back. Even she’s surprised when she sighs in relief. Nothing’s changed yet; Serafine looks ready to claw him down to the bone in the next second or two. But somehow Nadya just knows this isn’t the nightmare scenario they really should have prepared for.

“I’m sorry I called you Cynbel. You’re not him, Cade.”

“On the contrary.”

Nadya’s brow furrows with resolve. “Let her go.”

“Why should I?” before Nadya can even open her mouth, “This is who I’m supposed to be, isn’t it? This is what’s expected of me…”

Serafine’s hands fly to her neck, wiggling two—three fingers in a gap that definitely wasn’t there before. She’s getting through to him. Weirdly, and pretty much solely on luck at this point, but she is.

She takes a moment, puts on her brave face, and presses her hand down hard enough for him to actually feel her touch.

“But is it what you want to do?”

She’s waiting for him to speak when she sees it; the barest flicker of his head from side to side. Whatever came over him to begin with is sucked out into the void just as fast. Cadence recoils far across the room before Serafine’s knees even hit the ground.

Adrian’s at her side immediately. “You’re okay… you’re okay…” Crooning in her ear, kissing the droplets of sweat from her temples and holding her so tight Nadya can see the strain of it on his muscles from here but if their situations were reversed… well she doesn’t comment, leave it at that.

“Adrian —” the woman hiccoughs his name; like there’s no other word that could even compare, “— Adrian I…”

“It’s okay. You’re safe.”

“Non, mon amour… none of us are.”

Serafine’s in good hands — some of the best and Nadya has personal testimony to back her case. But she still lied, and some part of Nadya can’t help but wonder what else she’s hiding behind the psychic walls she knows about and maybe the ones still there just out of her conscious reach. So she doesn’t feel any guilt about turning away from them and running across the room, leaping over broken hunks of wood and a few husks of armor until she’s skidding on her knees along the flagstones to where Cadence sits, huddled. His knees pressed to his chest and a not-so-strange emptiness in his eyes staring through her, rather than at her.

Nadya’s watched herself in the mirror too many times not to know what a panic attack looks like. Immortal or not.

“I’m not him — I’m not him I swear —”

“I know you’re not.”

“But I am. Somewhere I can’t reach — like an itch inside of me and all it takes it one little scratch and suddenly — suddenly I don’t know where I am, or what I’ve done, and there’s always so much blood…”

She tries to laugh it off, “well you are a vampire…” but that’s not helping so probably best to pretend that didn’t happen.

Sometimes all that can be done is nothing at all. So Nadya just sits there. Pulls her own legs up against her chest (though that’s more to keep warm than anything) and rests her chin on her knees while Cadence mumbles whatever he needs to tell himself to calm down. Some of it she recognizes; a litany chant of “I’m not him, I’m not him, I’m not him,” while others are languages she’s heard but doesn’t know, and a few she’s doubtful have been languages for a long time.

Twice Nadya glances over her shoulder and through her hair to check on the others. The first time Adrian and Serafine are right where she left them. The next; they’re gone. Jax and Lily are either too smart or think she’s too dumb to be left with him on her own and, sure, that’s fair. But hopefully the smile she tries to offer them conveys just how much they really mean to her.

A loud thud makes Nadya jump in her boots. Whirling her head around to see Cadence finally easing up in his limbs and a large crack in the stone where the crown of his head decided to take a break. Besides his closed eyes and absolutely no breathing whatsoever, though, he seems relatively unharmed. Physically, anyway.

But he’ll talk when he’s ready. She just waits. and waits. and has an awful lot of time to think about certain things while she’s waiting and none of them are exactly pleasant. Unfortunately the stretching silence is more than ample opportunity for Nadya to finally understand exactly what happened back there.

She kinda wishes she hadn’t.

When Nadya finally looks up again she’s met with the familiar sharp scrutiny of Cadence’s stare. Small blessings. But unfortunately that means no more waiting around.

“You know… don’t you.”

A long, stretched silence. Like Cadence would rather have waited out the decades it took for Nadya to grow old and wither and die just so he wouldn’t have to give her an answer.

Maybe that’s why she’s so surprised that he actually does. His voice so quiet; a whisper on the wind.

“I had my suspicions.”

“Since when?”

His eyes narrow in a glare. “Oh, not long. Just since Valdas showed up on my office doorstep with a bouquet of orchids in one hand and dinner reservations in the other. So… late May, early June?”

“Alright, cool it Sassmaster General. It’s a valid question.”

“… Fair enough. There’s a litany of other small things… ones that could be coincidence on their own but trying to call them that when put together just made me realize I wanted to stay ignorant. Can’t really do that now though, can I?”

Nadya can’t help the frown tugging at the corners of her lips. “Then… why ask me to help you figure it out? Why come all the way upstate to tell me I’m your ‘last chance?’”

Amused, Cadence huffs a wheezing, heartless little laugh. “Because that’s exactly what you were. I never lied — I swear to you on that. But so long as there was even the slightest lack of proof… so long as Kamilah Sayeed bit her tongue in her fear rather than confront me, or Valdas skirted around real truths and didn’t actually know what happened during the War; I could pretend all the signs pointing to me… were meant for someone else.”

With a long groan Nadya leans back, propped up with her palms on the dusty floor and head angled up to the dark-stained ceiling. “Well that’s… great.”

He arches a thick brow. “What is?”

“Oh, you know… Listening to you has me realizing that I owe pretty much everyone in my life giant apology fruit baskets when all this is over.” Rolling her head back to attention; “Because if I sounded half that delusional I have literally no idea how they put up with me.”

It’s more meant to settle her nerves than anything else but hey, the fact it gets the barest quirk of a smile out of him is just a bonus.

“I’m lucky there. Most of the time it’s only Kathy who has to. And she’s contractually obligated, so…”

“Yeah, but she’d be there anyway.”

“You know… I don’t think you’re wrong there.”

His dry laughter doesn’t last long. In fact, it dies out right in the middle — like a scratched record. Nadya looks up to see something pained crossing over Cadence’s expression, making him bite at his lower lip until he’s wiping blood from his chin before it stains his sweater.

“What do you know about him, Nadya?”

She doesn’t need to ask who.

Cadence finally looks her in the eyes again and immediately Nadya wishes he hadn’t. The pain bleeds from him into her soul in scalding waves of despair. “Have you shared in any of his memories? I’m… I’m so sorry if you have. Because from everything I could uncover, he was not the kind of man that someone like yourself would want to get to know. Not in the intimate way the Bloodkeeper can.”

“‘Someone like myself?’”

“Someone good. Someone kind, and caring, and empathetic, and filled with a desire to put their goodness out into the world and who always seeks out the chance to do better — to be better.”

And doesn’t that make her laugh. Nadya can’t really help it.

“Well that’s kind of loaded. You make me sound like some kinda altruistic angel. I’m definitely not.”

“You are compared to him,” the vampire insists; so fiercely and like the louder he speaks the more she’ll believe him — in a way she kind of does, “hell—everyone is compared to him. That’s what it looks like when you put an ordinary person side by side with a monster.”

Nadya thinks back; back to the memory Valdas had used her to relive, to the portraits hanging in the Musea Sanguis and in Marcel’s library, and then back farther still. To things she doesn’t remember—couldn’t be remembering, not with her own mind—times of strange, chaotic confusion. Where the rest of the world was full of noise but muted; empty and hollow and devoid of the things Nadya filled her existence with the most.

Life. Longing. Laughter. Love.

Them.

And all of it gone. No, not gone… something can’t be gone if it never existed in the first place. That’s what makes their arrival so jarring; so violent. Like a knife to her middle and the blade is made of something she needed but could only accept in a terrible, traumatizing way.

Before she knows it, Nadya’s crying. And not even Serafine’s kind of silent, lovely tears either; where she’s shrieking like a banshee but still somehow perfectly pristine. She’s heaving sobs and holding her sweater sleeves to her nose to keep from looking like a snot monster and thank god Cadence is there to hold her glasses to keep her tears from staining them all up. But they sting and burn in her eyes and she misses them so—so much it hurts—so much it’s going to crush her—so much she would rather be anything but conscious if it keeps her from feeling the ache of being apart from them—

He waits until all that awfulness is reduced down to, like, a two to hand Nadya back her glasses. She takes them gratefully, voice thick with a stuffy nose, and wishes there was any way in the world she could play this off as cool.

“Do you want to…”

“It wasn’t me,” Nadya clarifies before Cadence can even get the question out, “I mean… it was me, but it wasn’t… me. Anyway that doesn’t matter.”

He looks doubtful. Glances at something over her shoulder and Nadya’s sure she looks like a real mess but she’s grateful, for once, not to have someone else to shoulder her burdens. They’re never going away. She needs to learn to deal with them by herself too.

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” —a beat— “about that. But I’m not sure about what’s gonna happen going forward.”

His shoulders slump. “Right. Because I…”

“… attacked her, yeah.” Nadya groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. “We really have to stop trying to die before we even make it back up top.” We’re doing Gaius’ work for him.

“It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

Now it’s her turn to look doubtful. Cadence takes it in stride though; like a good trooper. “Honestly,” he continues to insist, “I… will admit I was a little out of sorts back there but, no offense, she’d done the very thing I was hoping no one would ever do.”

“And how can we be sure you won’t…” What’s a nice way to mime slamming one of the most powerful vampires in the world into the wall like she was a rag doll?

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, suddenly unable to look Nadya in the eyes, “I see what you mean. Well luckily… there’s a simple way to avoid all of that trouble. I don’t fight, I don’t black out.”

Simple, he says, and even shrugs his shoulders like they’re talking about the freakin’ weather, or what to order for appetizers. And very much not about his tendency to go Ultimate Street Fighter on anyone who so much as looks at him the wrong way when he’s like that.

Though… it does tug on a few lightbulbs in her head. “When you saved us in the alley… that was you…”

He nods and finishes it for her; “— avoiding conflict, yes. As far as I can tell, brains over brawn is the best way to go. It doesn’t always happen; my blackouts. But there’s always the risk.”

Nadya sucks her bottom lip between her teeth. “And… if it were to accidentally happen anyway?”

She really doesn’t like the way Cadence’s face falls. At least he’s being honest though…

“As far as I’m aware, and I use the term loosely, Kathy is the only one who can bring me out of those… fits.”

“‘Fits’ being flashes of Cy—” But there’s suddenly a hand over her mouth that’s keeping her from saying the name. Cadence levels a stern frown right in her eyes. The intensity of it both jarring and a little cool at the same time.

“Please… for my sake, and yours, and probably everyone’s. Don’t… don’t say his name.”

“Just in case?”

“Just in case.”

Okay that’s… maybe half of one of their problems solved. Nadya can only hope that wherever Adrian and Serafine are they’re talking, you know with their mouths, and not… anything else. Adrian would vouch for him, right? He knows Cadence pretty well — he’s always at least liked the guy.

Cadence offers Nadya a hand and helps her up. All the color drains from her face in that exact moment; which is just bad timing more than anything.

“Are you alright?” he asks, that same concerned frown back in place like it had never left.

“Yup, peachy keen.”

Note to self!! Do not bring up Adrian’s weird One Nighter with the Bad Guys!!!

When the pair come back up on Lily and Jax, her friends exchange dual looks of ‘yeah, we’re not buying this.’ And it’s sweet — they’re sweet. The best friends a girl could ask for, really. Well… a best friend and a loose acquaintance who happened to be handy with a super sharp sword.

Before they can say anything though Nadya holds up her hands and takes the floor for her own. “Yeah, it’s weird — and yeah there’s a lot that still needs figuring out. But he’s still Cade, he’s still our friend… he’s just more our friend on the sidelines than our friend on the front lines. At least until we get back up to the surface and find this stupid Tree. Okay?”

Neither of them respond. Not an option. “I said o—kay?”

Lily sighs and nods… then leans in none-too-subtly. “This isn’t a Voldemort-and-Quirrell thing, is it?”

And Nadya can say it is with full confidence that she shakes her head. “Think Jekyll and Hyde.”

“You know I can hear you, right?”

They look up into Cadence’s not-at-all amused frown. Well… at least some things were kind of normal still.

Or they were.

Until a loud, hollow groan echoes across every wall and ceiling beam she can see.

GGGGHHHHHHRRRRRR…

Lily (rightfully, even if it stings) glances down at Nadya’s stomach. She throws her arm over it self-consciously. More than a little offended but fear is rapidly overtaking every other emotion she’s capable of.

“Was that —”

“No!”

GGGGGGGHHHHHHRRRRRR…

“Are you s—”

“It wasn’t my stomach, Lil’.”

Who groans beside her. “You couldn’t have pretended with me for like… a minute?” Touche.

GGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHRRRRRRNNNN…

By the third time nobody is moving. Necks craned up to the rafters, flashlights moving this way and that desperate to find the source. Even though, by that third time, they all know a universal truth.

That the noise—whatever it may be (that isn’t Revenge of the Canned Beans)—is way too loud to be coming from inside the Manor.

But not too loud to be echoing on repeat around the cavern just beyond the door.

Way to go Nadya. You just had to jinx it!

Like a group of teenage mystery solvers their gangs collide smack dab in the middle of the front foyer. Adrian and Serafine on one end, Nadya and the gang on the other; and for a brief moment the eerie howling in the distance is forgotten in the face of their more recent… revelations.

Serafine reaches up to her throat unconsciously. The sight makes Cadence swallow and avert his eyes.

“Bigger problems, guys.” Nadya stresses; emphasis on the stress.

Adrian’s frown deepens. “You heard it too then?”

“How could you not?” Jax looks to the gaping space that used to be the front doors as he says it. They’ve barely given it a thought since their arrival. But now… all Nadya can see is a giant hole in their defenses.

Tch, what defenses?

Nobody asked you.

All together (though with Serafine pointedly on one end and Cadence on the other — no complaints here) they empty out of the King’s Manor and into the cavern. The damp air leaves a chalky taste on her tongue, but taste isn’t the sense she needs most right now.

No one moves.

No one speaks.

Nadya doesn’t even give herself the luxury to breathe.

Finally, Lily breaks the silence; raising her voice to be heard over the nearby waterfall. “I can’t tell if I’m just hearing the echo in my head or…”

“I don’t understand…” While the rest of them look around aimlessly for any sign of the disturbing noise’s source, Serafine knows these caverns well. Eagle-eyed her head darts this way and that; locking on to the staircase they arrived from as well as others in the dark too dim for Nadya to see.

Jax scoffs. “What’s not to understand?”

“The Knights collapsed the old districts during their purge. Our path was the way through which I escaped; but the rest have been sealed off ever since.”

“But isn’t there even the slightest chance one of the tunnels could have been discovered?” asks Adrian, whose shoulders slump when she shakes her head.

“Non, not this far down.”

GGGGGGGHHHHHHRRRRRR…

Nadya’s stomach sinks. No matter where they look it all rings the same. The noise is coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once; reverberating through the stone until it isn’t just one sound, but a legion.

This time, Jax doesn’t wait until it fades to voice his frustrations. “Maybe back then it would have been, but we can’t rule anything out.”

“You think we did not anticipate the City lasting through centuries of innovation?”

“Well I sure don’t think a bunch of Dark Ages scavengers anticipated the light bulb.”

“Jax —”

“No, Adrian, he’s right.”

“I don’t recall asking your opinion, Monsieur D’or.”

Senseless arguing. The untraceable growl like an ever-present white noise. It all fades to wordless noise; something Nadya can hear but doesn’t take the time to process.

And through the cacophony of it all she hones in on one sound.

Dainty, whimsical laughter.

She looks back over her shoulder to the Manor’s depths. It suddenly seems so dark inside, which makes sense seeing as they—and their flashlights—are all out here. But the cavern has a natural glow to it. Phosphorescent mushrooms, maybe. Or the way their LEDs catch and sparkle all the way down the waterfall overhead.

It makes the way back in look like a yawning abyss. Beckoning her, calling out for Nadya and her alone.

She allows her feet to carry her back inside; trusts them to guide her to where she needs to be. Every step forward and the laughter grows louder — is joined by the ancient whine of a bow on strings and the pipes whistling in the background. Music fit for a grand party.

Nadya surprises even herself when she isn’t startled by the movement out of the corner of her eye. Maybe because she’s pretty sure at this point her eyes are about as untrustworthy as the rest of her senses. This is a memory. She’s certain of that. What she isn’t certain of, though, is to whom the memory belongs.

Their group is small; no more than five or so, all dressed in dark and rich fabrics and all wearing some form of mask. She only sees half a face; nothing more… and nothing less. Odd, translucent figures flit around them like they exist in some kind of bubble but those never last. Other than Nadya they are the only ones in the foyer but that’s in the here and now. Wherever they really are — whenever they really are — they are huddled away from curious attentions.

The closest figure to her is a man with eyes hidden with a more traditional mask design. If only that did something for bottom half of his face turned down into a frown so sour Nadya feels her own lips start to twitch.

“There’s an awful lot of Faceless here tonight,” says the sour-faced man; turning his nose up at party guests Nadya can’t see, “I would not have wasted my time with such a disparaging lack of prestige.”

Nadya’s brow wrinkles in confusion. Whatever that means. But by the way his entourage reacts he’s speaking boldly and way out of line.

“Really, Marquis?” asks one of his entourage in scandalous whisper.

“I would think not showing your face would be far worse.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes, yes.” Agreement ripples out among them in hushed tones. Nadya can’t see his eyebrows behind the mask covering his forehead but his eyes are definitely narrowed.

“So quick to judge me — yet I’m eager to see how many of you survive the waltz with such slim pickings!”

A woman passes by close enough for Nadya to imagine the tickle of lace trimming on the back of her hand. The Marquis’ crowd parts, unbidden, and allows her to settle at his side. Somehow Nadya knows before the woman even opens her mouth that she is the source of the ghostly laughter that drew Nadya in.

She regards the Marquis with cool expression defined in a waxing crescent of thin silver plating contoured perfectly to her every curve. The gathering shifts dynamics. No longer do they hang on every scathing insult from the Marquis. They would much rather hear what she has to say.

“Indeed Marquis,” comes her soft reply; her voice melodic and darkly alluring, “I share your sentiments. Of course, with the weight of prestige carried by one such as yourself you must not be worried about the inevitable tilt in scales this night.”

The Marquis bristles. Nadya’s arms break out in gooseflesh.

“And what makes the great Duchess say as such?”

“Why my dear Marquis; they do, of course.”

The Duchess points a slender, silk-gloved finger towards the doors leading to the ballroom. She, the Marquis, his adoring fan club — they all turn to witness the arrival of someone Nadya doesn’t get to see. Whoever it is exists outside of what’s left of this memory.

They vanish all at once; the candle blown out by a wind both real and not that carries around Nadya and leaves her… wrathful? No, that isn’t quite the word she’s looking for. Whatever it is it’s something she’s never felt before — and that’s probably not a good thing.

The only thing that comes close is—

“There you are.”

Relief washes the worry away from Adrian’s face when he sees her. If she wasn’t still trying to put a word to this new experience of hers she’d probably echo the sentiment. But her stomach aches — like physically, painfully aches — and she has to rub her palms into her eyes as a wave of exhaustion makes him go temporarily fuzzy.

Hands fall protective on her shoulders. “Please don’t wander off like that again, Nadya…” And for a man without breath he sure sounds like it was punched out of him.

“Sorry.” But it isn’t a sincere apology as much as it is an automatic response. Nadya knows it; worse still Adrian knows it. His grip tightens ever so slightly.

“Adrian?”

“Did you find her?!”

“We’re… in here.” He calls out to answer, and not a moment later the others file into the parlor with varied degrees of relief.

They’re her friends. They care about her. So why does the sight of their faces fill her with a passionate rage?

Something is very very wrong.

“Who are the Faceless?”

A muscle tenses in Serafine’s jaw. The brief, accusatory glance she throws Cadence’s way is about as subtle as a bullhorn.

“Where did you hear that name?”

“That’s not an answer. Who are they?”

On either side of her, Adrian and Lily exchange looks of surprise — and mutually melt into concern. Sure, Nadya will fully own up to the curt, harsh tone she has right now but if they knew what she was feeling… if they could understand even a fraction of the pain roiling in her belly right now they might just be a little testy too.

Realization dawns on the psychic’s face way too slow for Nadya’s current temperament.

“You saw something… a memory.” —and is that a flicker of fear hiding in those eyes?— “What — or who — did you see?”

“Answer the fucking question.”

“Nadya.” And she’s acting like a jerk; she knows that. But the bewildered way Lily accuses her with her own name feels like a knife to the chest.

“What?!”

“No — that’s my question. What is the matter with you?”

Nadya opens her mouth — she can feel a whole litany of insults and jibes right there on the tip of her tongue — so she bites down hard enough to break skin to keep them buried where they belong.

“I—I don’t know…” her words muddled around the stinging cut, “I… I just…”

I’m so…

Dammit! What word is she looking for?!

“The Faceless were the lowest tier of our society,” answers Serafine; finally, “and by all accounts they were the majority of them as well. By our rankings they were forbidden to wear a mask — a status symbol — that would show their face. To do so was a grave insult, with graver consequences.”

“Tch…” Jax shakes his head minutely. “Ridiculous…”

“Think what you will. But they were the foot soldiers the night of the purge; the first to die… for their betters.”

Faceless.

Nameless.

Ageless.

The Manor is suddenly maddeningly quiet.

“Hundreds of them…” she whispers, “hundreds on either side. He hated being seen with them, near them, even far away. What does it matter though? Hundreds of them and he outranked them all… There aren’t enough bodies.”

Cadence sucks in a breath; his teeth clenched. He’s gone pale; as dead on the outside as he technically is inside. “There aren’t enough bodies…” he repeats, each word weighed on his tongue heavy with truth.

The rest of them join him as the historian spins in a wild circle rooted in place. They had pushed the skeletons and their armor aside after that first walk through the Manor’s main passages. It kept them from tripping over scattered bones in the dark. It kept them from having to think about the weight of lost life.

It wasn’t the Marquis’ laughter that drew her back inside.

Nadya looks down at her trembling hands and chokes on her own scream.

The sight is enough to send her into a terrified frenzy. The bulging twisting spiderwebs of black that were now her veins, of greying skin so fragile it feels paper-thin, of talons yellowing with age and crusted with layers upon layers of dried blood…

Forcing a ragged sob through her chest is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. Like pushing a mountain through a molehill, or mouthfuls of blood down her gullet where her hungry eyes were too big for her stomach. “Getthemoffme —” she shrieks, “— getthemoffmegetthemoffGETTHEMOFF!”

She’ll do it herself if they won’t. Teary, bloodshot eyes falling on the sword just out of reach but strong arms stop her in her tracks; hold her back, stop her from getting rid of these awful—rotting hands—

“NADYA!”

Lily’s always been able to scream louder than her. So loud the echo of it rings high-pitched in her ears long after her best friend has stopped shouting her name. She clutches Nadya’s hands with her own; a horrifying sight. And no matter how hard she pulls Lily doesn’t let go. Adrian doesn’t release her from the captivity of his embrace.

The chill of Lily’s smooth skin burrows a home in her muscles and bones. She squeezes them tightly; bordering on real pain. But nothing is more painful than what’s to come.

“Nadi’…” the way Lily says her name; thick and haggard and with wet tears on her lips, “Nadi’ you’re scaring the shit out of me…”

Good! “Don’t look—don’t look at them. Don’t Lil’ don’t…”

“At what —” her eyes widen in understanding, “— at your hands? Nadya, look.”

She blinks back her tears, her apologies, her pleas of desperation… and sees nothing but her own hands — clammy and shaking but so very human — cradled in Lily’s tender care.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“They’re just hands, baby girl.”

“No—no they were…” But were they, really?

Nadya keens and doubles over as another wave of something tears through her middle. Her legs are ready to give out. Adrian—bless him—is the only thing holding her up now, so she accepts it and sags against his chest too exhausted to move.

Adrian presses a tender kiss to her temple. His lips like a cool palm against her feverish fit of pique. But he’s shaking, filled with a fear all his own. He can’t swallow it down forever.

“Serafine,” he pleads against the shell of Nadya’s ear, “help her… please.”

It’s kind of him to ask, Nadya thinks wistfully, even if it’s too late. Three hundred years—left behind left in the dark—made to flee from the fire—abandoned forgotten sacrificed—scouring endless paths for even a drop enough to slake the thirst—forced to guzzle down the same taint in shared blood over and over and over again—too late.

She can hear Serafine’s somber voice, muffled through the skin tight and calloused over her eardrums. If only Nadya remembered words enough to know what she’s saying.

Words… Finally, an eternity later; she has the right word to describe the pain.

“She feels empty.”

They left her there. Insolent, vainglorious things — and they just left her. Abandoned her despite her prestige, despite her beauty and wit and charm; condemned her to twist and wither both alone and surrounded by her kind.

They let this happen to her. They let her delicate hands warp into talons and did nothing to stop her alabaster skin from greying with disease. They were content to forget her while her long hair falls out in clumps, while her own bone tries to break free from her skin and mars her with protrusions like horns for lack of success.

They honored her in wretched memory. As her youth peeled away, sinking in and hollowing out, until what they remembered and what was left was no longer the same. Until all that was left was an insatiable hunger. A starvation that consumed her — mind, body, and soul.

Her only companion… an emptiness inside.

Until now.

There aren’t enough bodies among the dead. Where did they go?

Stumbling—staggering—starving. Scrambling endlessly through winding passages, surviving on the eternal cycle of their Taint. Unable to find freedom in the tangible darkness.

They didn’t go anywhere. They never left.

Outside the ancient and hallowed walls of the King’s Manor, the horde growls. Louder than before; and now—knowing what they know—far more menacing.

“Lily,” Adrian reacts quickly, motioning for the younger vampire to help him as they both take up on either side of Nadya, their combined strength and her arms over their shoulders practically lifting her off her feet.

“We’re too exposed here. We need to get deeper inside.”

And judging by his tone he knows that his suggestion is less than ideal. But what other choice do they have?

“Do we have any idea how many there could be?”

“Don’t look at me. Those two were the ones here when it happened.”

“Technically —”

“Yeah, I included you in this. Don’t gimme that look.”

“No doubt there were a fair few of those left behind who thought Turning the enemy would be a final insult… but all it takes is one of those vile creatures to breed a swarm.”

There’s a long pause. Then— “Trust me,” says Adrian, “I’ve seen it firsthand.”

Lily wasn’t there that night. At the Musea. She had the pleasure of roughing up Nicole, not going head to head with the things vampire horror stories are made about.

“So… theoretically. How good are our chances?”

Adrian chooses not to answer; and in that moment even the tiniest flicker of optimism is snuffed out.

They regrouped in a second-floor parlor of some kind. Filled with more burned wood than the rest of the Manor and a misshapen, disfigured lump in the corner Nadya comes to realize is a pile of painting canvases. Stacked one on top of the other then set ablaze. Though the smell of oil and paint has long since seeped into the wood, potent enough to make her feel a little woozy, they don’t have any immediate plans to father elsewhere.

This parlor is the only one with a window facing the network of tunnels leading far to the north of Paris. Their only way out.

“We must assume we cannot go back the way we came,” Serafine admits gravely, “even if we managed to slip by a few of them without being heard no doubt the torches have long since attracted them like moths.”

Jax grimaces. “We practically rolled out the red carpet for them, is what you’re saying.”

Nadya doesn’t turn away from the window; doesn’t think she has the strength to do something so strenuous as turn even the tiniest bit. But she sees Serafine’s reflection clear as day, and the woman’s curt nod makes her heart sink.

They probably shouldn’t have put her on lookout duty, all things considered. Not just because every shadow she sees out along the rocks makes her blood freeze in her veins, though that’s definitely a factor.

If I can’t trust my own eyes… how can they?

Talk about being under pressure.

Jax looks at Adrian. “You guys dealt with something similar at that Ball, didn’t you? How’d you take care of them then?”

“We nearly didn’t,” Adrian admits, and it occurs to Nadya this is the first time she’s ever heard him talk about the attack at the Awakening Ball, “and when we learned it was someone from Vega’s Clan who smuggled the initial wave in, our survival seemed less like luck and more like just another part of his plan.”

“But you still fought them off, you still won.” The younger vampire insists.

Frustration starts makes Adrian’s replies terse and forced. “Yes, we did, but that was with the combined strength of the entire Council—including Kamilah’s two thousand years of experience—and more than several of North America’s strongest vampires.

“Not to mention the Trinity.”

The last part he says like more of an afterthought; quieter and more to himself. A muscle ticks in Cadence’s jaw but he remains otherwise silent.

“Then our course is clear,” Serafine steps between them; practically a whole different person than the woman in the ballroom, “we wait for their attack to gauge their numbers. Then we do whatever we can to break through to the Northern Quarter.”

There’s a weight to her words that has nothing to do with the literal Feral horde practically on their doorstep. They don’t have any other choice; not a one of them. They’re the only ones who know what weapon will kill Gaius and if that means only one person pries their way back up to tell the ones fighting back home… so be it.

“I don’t like the thought of waiting them out.”

“You do not have to like it. We have no alternatives.”

“Rrragh!”

Behind her Jax lets out a short growl of frustration. The very sound makes Nadya flinch on her stool; shoulders hunched and shaking like a leaf. The scuffled sounds of his frantic pacing stops immediately. She can feel his eyes boring into her back, watching; waiting for her to break like a little glass figurine.

She’s caught by surprise though when Cadence unfolds his arms and approaches with loud and purposeful strides. She hears every step until he’s at her back like a wall — or a shield.

On the other side of the glass the shadows shift again. Like they sensed the tension easing from her soul for even a fraction of a second and have to make up for the lost time in terrifying her. Nadya decides then that’s more than enough of an excuse to turn her back on them.

When she can finally meet her friends’ eyes she looks up to find Serafine studying her intensely. “Wh-What?” she asks, voice wavering.

It doesn’t help she’s still too scared to look at her own freakin’ hands.

“You were inside the creature’s mind.” Gee, thanks for stating the obvious.

“I know. I was there.”

“Perhaps you could be again.”

“Perhaps you could shut up.”

Lily quirks an eyebrow at her in a silent question. No doubt they’re all wondering just how much of what Nadya says and does is in fact Nadya Al Jamil… and how much is the twisted madness of a starving Feral. But they don’t need to worry; she’s pushed that thing as far out of her little personal space bubble as she could. That anger is one hundred percent hers, and one hundred percent warranted.

Cadence clears his throat over her head. “Well if it’s any consolation, Jax, it won’t be a long wait…” Unprompted, he’s taken up Nadya’s vigil; eyes so wide she can see a thin ring of white around his blue irises and focused far in the cavern’s distance.

The shadows are moving faster now. They scuttle like spiders around shallow cliffs and down the many many staircases, descending on them in a frenzied haze until there aren’t many of them, but instead one big mama shadow heading their way.

There’s no deluding herself now… those aren’t shadows.

#bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #kamilah x mc #adrian raines #choices fanfiction #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #lily spencer #jax matsuo #serafine dupont #oc: cadence smith #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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annaraebananawriter · 5 years ago

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(Part One) Cold Truths

Yellow again everyone! I am back yet again with another oneshot. In fact, this oneshot will have around three to four parts. I think. That’s the plan anyways, but it might change. Who knows.

And I want to say this now, this is meant to be seen as platonic, however you can think of it as a ship, if you want. This is also my first time wring FGOD Error. If you don’t know who that is, then I suggest checking it out!

Fandom: Undertale, but specifically Dreamtale and Errortale

Characters: Dream and Nightmare (Who both belong to Joku), Error (Who belongs to CQ)

Pairings: None really, but you can read it as such

Warnings: Implied/Referenced panic attack/flashback, and I think that’s it? Let me know!

Word Count: 2649

~oOo~

Someone was crying.

Error blinked, closing the portal behind him.

He stood there for a moment, mildly surprised by this. He says mildly because he always figured someone would find out about his reoccurring visits to Outertale without it being destroyed. It was only a matter of time.

Hopefully, it wasn’t any of the ‘light’/’Good’ Sanses. He doesn’t think he could handle another run-in with them so soon after a battle. Especially if that battle had ended up…well, let’s just say no one got out of it without injury. Even him, and he had all these glitched stats that made it impossible for him to die. Though, he could still feel pain.

He was getting sidetracked.

Where was he…ah, yes! So, hopefully, the crying wasn’t a trick from his enemies. He doubts it was, but he could never be too careful.

Although, there was a possibility that it was Blue, who was his dear friend. He smiled despite himself. Blue had been his friend for a few years now, ever since he kidnapped the Sans and told him about the balance. From then on, the other saw through the creator’s lies and basically acted as a spy for Error and the ‘Bad’ Sanses.

The smile widened slightly at the thought of Nightmare and the others. He could still remember the first time they met…

~oOo~

He stumbled blindly through whatever AU he had ended up in.

Error signs had overtaken his vision, leaving him defenseless. He was glitching quite frantically, too. Pieces of him breaking off and slamming back into place, only to unsettle another piece opposite of it, repeating the process over and over.

It hurt. It hurt so much. But he was used to it. This happened to him all of the time, so how could he not be? Even if the pain was amplified by the injuries leftover from his latest fight with Ink. The creator did know how to throw some mean attacks, he’ll give him that.

“Stupid squid…” Error grumbled to himself, voice glitching so much that he could barely make out his own words, tripping and just managing to catch himself with a tree, which he leaned on after. He growled, frustrated with himself. “Stupid soulless bastard…” He closed his eyes, not that it made a difference, and leaned his head against the bark of the tree, breathing for a moment.

“My, my…you don’t look good at all…”

However, when a smooth voice spoke from right in front of him, his eyes snapped open. He flinched and squinted from the sudden light. His eyes had cleared up.

Well…at least he could see again.

Once his eyes were somewhat adjusted, he glared at the person in front of him. He then blinked, half in shock and half in curiosity. The person in front of him was covered in a sort of…black…goo…thing. He didn’t know what it was. Despite the sludge on him, the other was surprisingly calm, gazing at him with a piercing cyan eye (the other was covered with the sludge) that almost seemed to both glow and look deep into his soul. There was also a hint of…concern in his gaze.

Error couldn’t place a reason about why. He was the Destroyer. No one was supposed to care about him, as much as he wanted that to happen. He was just a filthy glitch. He was—

None of that mattered right now. Well, it did, but it wasn’t the most important thing. That was knowing who this newcomer was and why he radiated a powerful aura, which he only now realized. He straightened so he wasn’t leaning on the tree anymore.

“Who are you?” He croaked out, voice back to the normal amount of glitches.

The other blinked, tipping his head forward. Error got the feeling that he was surveying him, sizing him up. He tensed, prepared to fight if need be. The other seemed to notice this and frowned further. A cold feeling, like if someone dumped ice down his shirt, overcame him and he froze. The other was CHECKing him.

He watched warily as the other’s eye grew in surprise. Then, Error grew surprised when the others surprised faded to…concern and…anger? At Error? No, for Error. Interesting. No one reacted like that before. Then again, no one even checked him before so…

He could never be sure of anything. This was all new.

The other seemed to come to a decision and walked a few steps toward Error before stopping when Error tensed, his hand coming to rest by his cheek, ready to draw his strings to fight. “I’m Nightmare,” the other spoke, finally revealing who he was.

Error narrowed his eyes.

Nightmare noticed and held his hands up in a surrendering position. “Relax. I’m not here to fight you. In fact,” he smiled, “I want to help you.”

~oOo~

Error had been rightfully surprised. No one wanted to help him. No one was supposed to.

After some explaining on both ends, and getting to know each other a little, Nightmare asked Error to come with him. To come to his home and stay there. Hesitantly, Error had agreed. It was the best decision he ever made. He got to know Horror, Killer, Dust and Cross, who had become good friends of him.

Now, they all saw each other as a family. A family who protected each other.

No matter what.

Coming back to himself, Error shook his head. None of this was important now.

Now, he had to focus on finding who was crying.

Yes, it could still be a trap. Yes, he could get hurt, even if it wasn’t. But he couldn’t ignore it. Just because he destroyed things, does not mean he didn’t have morals. He had feelings. And besides…the crying reminded him too much of himself.

He shook his head again, scolding himself. Focus, Error, he thought to himself, Focus.

He followed the crying to near the edge of the rock they were on. Any further, and you would fall from existence. You would fall into the Void. This was, in his opinion, the best place to view the stars. It was so clear and pretty. It was so peaceful, too. He loved coming here and relaxing, making some more of his dolls.

But that’s not what he was here for.

The crying was coming from behind a boulder a few steps away. Whoever it was, it seemed they were quite sad, or whatever emotion they were feeling, they were surely feeling it strongly. Error watched the boulder for a few seconds before walking around it, to the source of the crying.

He blinked in surprise.

Dream was there.

The positive guardian was curled up into a ball, hands held over his ears with his head bowed low. His chest was heaving rapidly, almost like he was just on the edge of hyperventilating, but he wasn’t quite there yet. He sobbed, tears running down his face as fast as his chest moved. It was like…it was almost like he was trying to block out someone who was saying something mean.

Suddenly, Error felt a great deal of sympathy for the guardian. He knew how it felt, trying to block something out that only you could hear. He himself did it all the time. Usually, no one helped him.

He won’t let Dream suffer the same. Even if the other was his enemy. Even if he had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the first time this happened.

He knelt down next to the other. Hesitating slightly (he briefly wondered where Nightmare was. He should have felt all this negativity.), he reached out and placed a hand on Dream’s shoulder. He flinched at the contact, glitches wreaking havoc on his arm in his dislike. But he pushed through it, ignored it.

“Dream?” Error said, watching as Dream didn’t react to his hand. He frowned. He was worried now. “Dream? Can you hear me?”

All he got was a sob in return.

He sighed, settling down. He knew he would be here for a while, but that was fine. He didn’t really have anything he was going to do anyway.

~oOo~

Error wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there, rubbing Dream’s arm in hopes that that was enough, before the other finally broke out of his…trance? Flashback?

Whatever it was, he perked up once he felt the other shift. He retreated his hand just in case, but stayed where he was sitting. He wanted to make sure the other would be alright before he left. So, he had to wait for Dream to get his bearing and notice him.

(He might be attacked, but he was willing to risk it.)

Anxious, but hiding that with a calm attitude, he watched as Dream took a few shaky breaths. The guardian blinked a couple of times, his eyes focusing more on his surroundings. Then, he stiffened. He didn’t look in Error’s direction, not yet, but the destroyer could tell that he knew he was there.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Error figured that Dream was expecting to be ridiculed or attacked, much like he did. But he wasn’t going to do that, so he just shifted into a more comfortable position and looked at the stars. They were as beautiful as ever.

He waited.

After a few more minutes—probably even longer but he had no way to track the time, so oh well—Dream shifted as well. Error suddenly felt like he was being stared at, being judged. He forced himself to ignore it, however.

“…what are you doing?” Dream finally said. His voice was a bit rough and small.

“Watching the stars.” Error replied. It wasn’t the answer Dream was looking for, he knew that, but it was the truth.

“What are doing here? Now?” Was that annoyance Error heard?

He turned to look Dream in the eye. The guardian flinched slightly, wound up like a cat ready to run, and Error felt the slightest bit of guilt. “I told you. Watching the stars.” He continued before Dream could get even more annoyed. “And making sure you’re okay.”

Dream blinked. It seems he had expected something far worse.

Error laughed inwardly, finding a bit of amusement in the guardian’s reaction. He decided to explain anyway. “I came out here to relax, originally. Then, I heard someone crying, which worried me.”

“Worried you?” Dream sounded like he couldn’t believe what he had been told.

Error felt a bit annoyed. He rolled his eyes. “Yes, worried.” He shook his head. “Is that really so hard to believe? I followed the sound to you.” He gave Dream a searching look. “It looked like, to me, that you were having a flashback, or panic attack.”

Dream looked away and Error, somehow, knew that he was right.

A flashback or panic attack.

Hm…

Those weren’t two words that he thought of when he heard the title ‘guardian of positivity’.

Error sighed and continued, looking at Dream even if he wasn’t being looked at in return. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Dream was silent. He didn’t look back at Error, who only sighed again, diverting his attention back to the stars as he waited again.

“…why?”

Error blinked and looked back to Dream. The guardian hadn’t moved his gaze from the rock in front of him. “Why what?”

Dream huffed. “Just…” He waved his arms around, gesturing to nothing in particular. “Why?”

Error tilted his head. He was confused. Did he mean why he stayed to see if he was okay? “I wanted to make sure you were okay because I was worried. I—”

“No!” Dream interrupted him, snapping his gaze over to meet Error’s confused one. “I mean, well, yes, thank you, but…” He sighed in frustration. “I didn’t mean that. I meant…why do you destroy?”

Error blinked. Once. Twice. His confusion intensified. What did that have to do with the current events? Why he was here with Dream in the first place? He raised a brow at Dream. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Dream sighed and gained a pleading tone in his voice. “Just tell me, please.”

Error gave him a last searching look. He didn’t find what he was looking for. He didn’t even know what he was looking for in the first place. “I destroy because of the balance. If I don’t destroy, the AU’s will start to crash into each other, which will cause the Multiverse to collapse.”

Dream nodded slowly. “The balance…” He repeated. There wasn’t any confusion or disbelief in his voice, which cause Error to become confused.

“Yes.” Error was very confused and beginning to get a bit mad. “Did you know this already?” If he did, then why didn’t he speak up? Why didn’t he see the suffering and put an end to it? Was he just that selfish?

Error shook his head. No, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that. There must be a reason for this. A good reason, not a bad one.

“The balance…” Dream mumbled. He didn’t seem to have heard Error at all. As he continued, he seemed to be in pain, like something was stopping him from knowing this stuff. “There are…f-four…main balances…in the multiverse.”

“Yes.” Error confirmed, leaning forward. “Did you know this already, Dream?”

“I-hng!” Dream doubled over, suddenly grasping at his left forearm, like it was causing him pain.

Error’s eyes widen and he sat up a little, now on his knees. He shifted towards Dream, hovering over the guardian, but not touching him. “Dream! Are you okay?”

Dream breathed hard for a few minutes. He then let go of his arm slowly, though his hand was shaking quite bad. He shook his head and leaned back up, which made Error move away a tad. Dream’s gaze met Error’s and Error frowned in concern. Dream’s eyes were clouded with pain and confusion.

Dream swallowed and cleared his throat. “I-I knew that.”

Error blinked. “Knew what?”

“About…about the balances.” Dream frowned at himself, like he couldn’t believe himself. “I knew that. But I also didn’t.”

Now Error was confused. “What?”

“I know I knew about the balances, but I don’t…I don’t remember knowing about them. But I…” Dream frowned even further and screwed his eyes shut. “I swear I knew about them. Why did I forget?”

Error also frowned, thinking over what was just said to him. “I don’t know.”

They sat there for a minute, trying to find an answer.

They didn’t have enough pieces, though, so it was hard.

Eventually, Dream groaned in frustration and stood up, prompting Error to do the same. Dream met Error’s eyes and smiled weakly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put this on you.”

Error frowned. “It’s no problem. I’m happy to help, if you’ll let me.”

Dream laughed. “Of course, sure. I think I’ll need it.” He took a deep breath, turned and opened a portal. He stared at the golden circle before turning back to Error. “What are doing today?”

Error blinked and tilted his head. “Blues made us some tacos, so probably just eating those and chatting with Nightmare. Why?”

Dream nodded his head. Something had flashed across his face at the mention of his brother, but it was gone too fast for Error to pin down. “Okay. I just wanted to know.” He smiled at Error. “Hope you have fun.”

Something warm entered Error’s chest and he smiled back. “I will. Thanks.”

Dream laughed again and waved him off before disappearing through his portal. Error watched the empty space before him for a few seconds before sighing, looking to the stars one last time before entering a portal of his own. It was time for tacos.

He ignored the uneasy feeling in his chest that told him something bad was going to happen.

#my writing #my fanfiction #oneshot #part one #dreamtale #errortale #dream sans #nightmare sans #error sans #fgod error sans #tw panic attack #tw flashback

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miruka-cioccolata · 5 years ago

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“What if a reader accidentally hits one of the La Squadra boys with her car? Instead of calling for a ambulance, she freaks out and puts them in her car and drives home and attempted to care for them?” - asked by @jashin-priestess

Ohh, this was a fun one to write! I’m sorry for the wait, but I made it extra long this time~ thank you for sending in that request! ^^

(Under the cut for length!)

Risotto Nero:

You still don’t know how exactly you managed to do it, but apparently the shock made you develop superhuman abilities, because somehow you placed the huge 2-meter man you accidently ran over into the back of your car and drove back to your home with him.

While you were preparing some cooling pads for his broken leg and bruises, you suddenly feel an icy shiver running down your spine. Turning around slowly, you almost drop the ice with a loud shriek: The man you had placed onto the floor just a few minutes ago in order to tend to his wounds is now kneeling in front of you with a knife in his hand that he points straight at your throat. His gaze out of red eyes resting inside pitch black sclerae is piercing right through you.

“Tell me. Where am I?”, the silver-haired man asks calmly and yet the underlying threat in his dark voice is undeniable. You swallow down an anxious cry and gather together all your courage to answer: “I…I brought you home since I kinda, uhm…I hit you with my car and I wanted to help you. I think yo…your leg is broken.”

For a moment the man keeps on staring at you, before his crimson eyes wander down to his wounded leg. Apparently, he didn’t even realize that he was injured until now.

Seeing him lowering his knife, you feel a confidence bubbling up inside you again and you finally allow yourself to take a deep, steady breath.

“Sorry for not taking you to a hospital”, you mumble, “but I sorta freaked out when I saw the blood on the tires, and I couldn’t even think clearly anymore so I brought you back to my place. I hope it’s okay…yeah?”

The man’s strange eyes still scare you, but despite his intimidating appearance, you move closer to him in order to have a better look on his injuries. His muscles visibly tense when you approach him, but he holds back with any movements. Apparently, he has concluded that you are of no danger to him, so he lets you take care of his leg with the cooling pads.

Some time afterwards the man even decides to break the ear-crushing silence between you two by saying: “Why are you helping me?”

“I feel really bad about the accident”, you respond in shame, “so I want to take care of your wounds. Really, it’s the least I can do.”

Risotto stares at you a tad longer in taciturnity before giving you a short nod.

“Thank you.”

Prosciutto:

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god”, you mumble like a mantra under your breath as you try to carry the man you just hit with your car into your living room. Momentarily, you are simply glad that he isn’t that heavy so that it is easy for you to lay him down safely onto your sofa. The blonde groans lowly, eyes shut tight from the pain visibly coursing through his body.

“I am so sorry. I just…I didn’t see you standing there, really, It was so dark and when I noticed you, I hit the brakes too late, and I-“

Your mouth comes to a halt when you receive an angry glare out of blue eyes.

“Why did you bring me to your home then instead of the hospital? Aren’t you afraid of letting a stranger in without even knowing if he is dangerous or not? I could do horrible things to you and you wouldn’t even have the slightest chance to defend yourself! How fucking naïve can you be?”

The man’s words might have been harsh, but there was a concerned undertone in his voice, something akin to the scolding of a teacher. Upon seeing the intimidation present on your face, the blonde lets out a deep sigh.

“Well, it is how it is”, he says with much less vigour than before. “The hospital would have probably been a bad choice anyway. Too risky.”

You look at the stranger, questioningly tilting your head at his remark.

“None of your business.”

He presses his fists into the cushion of the sofa with clenched teeth to get himself into a sitting position, trying to carefully rest his leg onto the pillow you had fetched him earlier from your bedroom. You help him with the whole ordeal the best you possibly can.

During the crushing silence between you two, you finally ask: “So, uhm, your name is…?”

A stern look is thrown your way and you already brace yourself for a chiding retort, but instead he really does answer your question – his name is Prosciutto. How weird.

“Don’t worry, I am going to care for you until you can walk again. It’s the least I can do to make up for the accident”, you say to him while you put some cooling ointment onto his injuries.

Prosciutto opens his mouth to respond, but then closes it again after a moment of overthinking. Surely, he wanted to reprimand you again for your gullibility, however, he decided to let it slide. After all, he really could need some assistance with his wounds for now.

Formaggio:

“Okay so, you are…ouch-!”

“Sorry!”, you say as you dab the cotton drenched in alcohol onto the man’s wound. It would certainly not leave a scar (you think), but nevertheless you need to disinfect it.

“Ngh, never mind, I put up with worse in the past”, the man with the buzzcut says, flashing you a cocky grin, one that quickly melds into a pained grimace when the burning disinfectant meets his bruised skin.

“I gotta say though that I’ve never been the victim of a car accident. There’s a first time for anything, huh?”

You look at him – the man who had introduced himself as Formaggio to you earlier – in shock and you wonder how he is able to laugh at a time like this. Especially since you could have killed him right then and there with your car.

“I am sorry”, you repeat yourself, lowering your head in shame. “I’ll make it up to you, okay? I’ll treat your injuries the best I can, and you can stay here until you feel better. It’s the least I can do.”

Formaggio nods at your words, letting himself fall back into the sofa’s cushion with a yawn.

“Alright then, fine by me! But don’t be too good at your job cuz I could get used to a personal nurse!”, he says with a mischievous smirk on his lips.

Illuso:

You tried to be careful – really! – and yet you still handled his ankle too roughly, making the injured man on your couch cry out in pain.

“Fuck, can you be a little more careful perhaps!?”, he snaps at you.

“S-sorry”, you mumble in response, feeling even worse when you notice the man is grinding his teeth in agony from your treatment. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Yeah, there really is something you could do for me…say, do you have a mirror somewhere?”

You blink, confused about his request.

“Uhm, yes, it’s hanging right there-“

Illuso follows the pointing of your finger with his eyes, looking quite content.

“Ah yes, perfect. I mean…could you get me a glass of water?”

Nodding, you move into the kitchen to fetch the man some water, but once you return to the living room, you draw in a sharp breath.

He…he is gone!

Frantically you look around your living room for the slightest trace of the strange man with the dark pigtails, but there is no trace of him, none at all! It’s as if Illuso had only been a…well, an illusion.

Suddenly, you hear a small noise, something akin to a huff of exertion or pain coming from the mirror that hangs on the wall next to the sofa. Huh, how weird. Maybe you had just imagined that sound, your nerves were still playing tricks on you apparently.

Pesci:

You watch the man on your couch anxiously as he tries to stretch his leg, only for him to let it drop back onto the cushion of your sofa with a yelp.

“Moving hurts too much”, he groans, trying to fight back tears from the seething pain radiating from his injured limb.

“I am so sorry! I didn’t see you there crossing the street and it was too late for the brakes to work”, you try to explain yourself, the guilt of your careless action making you sick to the stomach.

“Why didn’t you get me to a hospital then?”, the man asks, looking up at you with a pang of fear. “What a-are you gonna do with me now?”

“Well, I just kinda freaked out and then took you back to my place. Don’t worry, really, I’m just trying to help you!”, you add quickly when you notice that the man – Pesci was his name, if you recall correctly – eyed you with apparent fear, his hands slightly trembling.

“I’ll make sure to make you feel alright again! It’s my fault after all that you got involved in a car accident after all.”

Pesci gives you an uncertain look, clearly not too sure how to react to your offer. “That is, uhm, nice. I think. Thank you…”

Melone:

You could almost cry from relief when the stranger on your couch finally opens his eyes. Well, it’s just one eye if you were exact, because his other eye was covered by a translucent mask and a curtain of lilac hair.

“Where am I?”, he asked, his voice still a bit drowsy. You couldn’t blame him for that, after all he had just woken up from an unpleasant encounter with the bumper of your car.

“You are in my house. I brought you here after I, uhm, after I hit you with my car”, you say, the last few words added very, very quietly. The man blinks two, three times, before he tries to sit up, only to sink back into the cushion when he feels the sizzling pain in his leg.

“Ah, I see”, is his only comment to the whole situation.

The man seems to contemplate about something, the gears in his heads working in pregnant silence, before he finally says: “Melone.”

“Huh?”

You stare at the man in confusion. Melone? Was he hungry or something?

“That´s my name. I think you ought to know now that I am already here in the security of your home.”

The man with the lilac hair looks up to you, his turquois eye throwing an attentive gaze at you.

“I presume you are intending to care for me then? Since you didn’t get me to a hospital for medical treatment?”

Well, he had a point! Panic had overtaken you the moment you decided to take the injured man back to your home instead of getting him proper treatment. So, you simply nod as response to his question.

“Di molto!”

Melone’s mouth curves upwards into a sly smile and suddenly you feel like taking this stranger into your home wasn’t a very good idea.

“You know what, I think I prefer your treatment over the hospital. You are the cutest nurse I have ever had the pleasure to meet!”

Ghiaccio:

“Why didn’t you get me to a fucking hospital? You hit me with your goddamn car!”

The loud voice of the man currently perched on your sofa makes you wince. Apparently, he isn’t all too familiar with the concept of ‘indoor voice’.

“I’m…I’m sorry, everything was just a bit much for me and you ran across the street without looking and I couldn’t stop the car in time and I panicked and then I-“

“Listen, I don’t need you telling me in detail how you fucking RAN ME OVER! It just happened an hour ago and I remember”, the blue haired man tried to sit up, but recoiled in pain when he tried moving his broken foot, “I fucking remember it well…”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry”, you blurt out again for what feels like the hundredth time. In a fit of panic, you had tried to tend to the stranger’s wounds by yourself – a terrible idea in retrospective.

The snarling man on your sofa had grudgingly introduced himself as Ghiaccio and you truly couldn’t be mad at his foul mood, considering that you were the reason for his current predicament.

However, the prospect of you taking care of him until he could properly walk again was at first met with an iron resistance (and a plethora of excessive cursing), after a while Ghiaccio seemed to accept that he didn’t really have much of a choice anyway.

“Trust me, I will treat you well!”, you assure him.

His response hits you like a frosty blizzard: “I hope for your sake that you fucking will or else you’re gonna regret it.”

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let-it-show · 5 years ago

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All The Love I Found In You 9/?

Ahh, I’m sorry for the wait everyone. I still see activity on this story so thank you so much for reading it ;; You can find part 8 here! Poor Anna isn’t feeling super well and having some issues. But what else is wrong? Elsa is full of confusion and guilt, she’s not sure what to do. Ah, the troubles that come with love... Click HERE for part 10! tag for @hellodemoiselle !!

Despite being exhausted from the day, Elsa could not fall asleep.

It wasn't an isolated event. When her mind was overtaken with her worries she would stay up and just think, usually watching the sky when she stayed away from everyone. It was always better in the winter when she could watch the snow. In Ahtohallan she watched certain memories throughout the night - often they involved Anna. Between her years of isolation and leaving Arendelle, she spent time with Anna if her mind would not let her sleep. Even if she didn't tell Anna exactly what was on her mind all the time, her presence helped.

Elsa found herself gazing down on her sister's sleeping form, lying on her side by then with Anna on her back. Her shoulder had become a dull aache but still unpleasant. She was looking at her own form but it was Anna's soul in there, every movement was hers. The smile on her face, that was Anna's, and so was the hand Elsa held in her own.

"What could it be, Anna?" she whispered into the silence of the night. She had a small wish that Anna would manifest her dreams and that she could learn something from those. However, Anna's dreams could be off the wall. Elsa supposed she didn't need Anna to create scenes of reindeers in slippers racing each other in the bedroom.

Anna offered no answer, just a sleepy little sigh.

"I'm not going to leave you." Elsa had waves of strong regret flooding through her off and on as the hours went by.

If only in the past she had at least tried to connect with Anna, tried to sneak out to see her sometimes or at the very least, offered words through the door when her parents died. Her parents, who she listened to and thought the world of even as they did irreparable amounts of damage to both women. They had tried hard. What options did they even have? What they did made sense.

No. No, that was wrong. They didn't have to do exactly what the trolls said. They didn't have to keep them apart so many years. When they were a few years older than when the accident happened, why couldn't they have figured out a way for the sisters to connect? Why? It was her fault-no, she had been a little kid when she hurt Anna! She hurt Anna...

"Stop!" she growled to herself and then froze. She'd done that louder than she meant to. "Stop," she whispered again.

How to silence her mind from the thoughts that plagued her? She didn't know that they would ever quite go away. Even if they came far less often than they used to, they still happened.

Part of her wanted to walk, maybe go to the library and try to seek out an answer - both for her thoughts, and get ideas for Anna. However, she had been all over the library for the former and found no magic cure. And if she got up and left, waking up alone would surely hit Anna's panic button like a giant's rock.

She didn't want to leave her anyway, especially as Anna snuggled in closer. Elsa squeezed her hand and lowered herself back down in the bed so her face snuggled against Anna. Maybe another hour passed and Elsa finally fell asleep.

"Ooooh no, oh no..."

Elsa's eyes shot open to the sounds of moaning and groaning next to her on the bed. She sat up in alarm and looked to Anna, who had rolled on her side with her back to Elsa. The first bits of morning light fell in through the window with curtains they had forgotten to close and for a moment Elsa thought the complaint was due to being woken up..

When she heard another painful groan, she knew otherwise. "Anna...?" Her fingers gently brushed her shoulder.

"Ooooh Elsa, oh Elsa it's baaaad..."

"What's bad?" Elsa asked, her entire being nearly in panic mode at any slight bit of discomfort from her sister. She had an idea, just a little inkling...

"Oh Elsa I had some strong stuff last night and so much cheese, I'm going to be sick! My head hurts too, whyyyyy why did I do that," Anna moaned out and started inching toward the edge of the bed. "I gotta throw up."

"Woah let's get you to the washroom, throw up there and-"

"Noooope." As soon as the word was out, Anna propped herself up and leaned over to throw up. "Ohgaw!" she made a strangled noise of surprise as she did so. Elsa cringed and tried to pet her back and arm in what she hoped was a soothing gesture.

She felt a spike of cold in the air, and wasn't terribly surprised. When she was sick she made snowmen with a sneeze and one time when she was terribly nauseous she made a blizzard in the washroom. With Anna she guessed she shot some snowballs out her nose.

Her hand continued to rub Anna's arm as she felt her body shake from exertion. It took a few minutes for the poor girl to recover. Even when she seemed she had she laid her head on the pillow again and groaned.

Elsa steeled herself for the sight on the floor; she was going to take care of it right away from Anna and she started to get up. "No, please," Anna begged weakly when Elsa began to peel away from her. "Can you stay a little longer? It's still early."

"It's very early, but I need to clean up and get you some water and a bucket," Elsa told her. Then I'll lay back down with you for a little while," she told her.

Surprisingly, Anna giggled. "Oh there's nothing to worry about for cleaning." Anna turned her head a little. "I turned it into snow on the way out."

"You..." Elsa blinked. She couldn't remember ever doing that herself.

"I didn't want to be gross and I didn't want to taste it so...I sort of froze it but not entirely and anyway I puked snow." She giggled again and then groaned. "Ow..."

"I'm impressed," Elsa admitted. "You got a handle on those powers quick to turn vomit into snow in the process of, uh, yea."

"It was kinda easy for me," Anna admitted in a small voice. "But control with emotions is...it works for me I guess, when I'm happy mostly."

"Your love has always been there, always been a powerful part of you and you flourish with it," Elsa said, lowering herself to kiss Anna's cheek. "I should have expected it." She wondered if, even with Anna being in her body only a couple of days, if she already handled her powers better...

If so, she was proud. She couldn't be jealous. She had concealed too long and too hard and Anna hadn't.

"I'm going to get you water." Elsa still had to take care of her.

"Nonono, please please," Anna begged weakly. "Can you stay, I don't feel good so can you stay?"

"Anna," Elsa sighed in frustration. "I'm going to come right back! You need to drink something and if you cuddle up to me I'll fall right back asleep before getting you anything."

"I don't see the problem," Anna whined.

"I do." Elsa finally managed to slip away from Anna and the blankets, shivering in the cool air. It may have been cold anyway, but the chill born from Anna's sickness only piled onto it all. She wished she had slippers near the bed or something, but last night she hadn't exactly been thinking about a wake-up routine. "I'm going to get the fireplace going again, too."

"But I can keep you warm," Anna told her as Elsa sought out a robe by the door to throw over herself.

"I know. But you need not focus on my well being, and if you get too warm or your head hurts too much-"

"I can do it. I can do whatever you need me to, Elsa."

Elsa's hand had been on the doorknob when Anna's words made her hesitate. She noticed her voice seemed small, too. "Anna?" She peered at her and Anna was sitting halfway up in the bed peering at her with wide, begging eyes.

"Don't go, I can um, I can take care of you so stay."

"..." Elsa studied her. Surely Anna wasn't drunk, still, though a mean hangover could be messing with her mind. As a result it was bringing yet more to the surface. Elsa needed to learn it and hear it, but she didn't like it coming forth as she was trying to help her. "I know you can take care of me, but you shouldn't have to do that right now. Let me take care of you. Please? I'll be right back."

Her words seemed to do the trick, for the time being. "Oh...okay..."

Elsa smiled at her and then hurried out the door, the cool floor making her feet feel like, well, ice. It was uncomfortable at best and she hurried toward the kitchen for a fresh pitcher of water. They still had glasses in the bedroom. The cooks might be starting breakfast preparation. Elsa hoped she could easily duck in and out.

Luck was on her side. A couple of the servers were in and cleaning the counters down while the head cook had his head in the pantry. The servers saw her and opened their mouths to say hello, but Elsa just gave them a tiny wave, trying to signal she didn't have time to stop and chat. They appeared a little thrown off but that seemed about right. Anna usually chatted and was a beaming ray of sunshine to all the staff. Elsa didn't have the time or the energy to do so.

It was upon leaving the kitchen with the pitcher that she was vaguely aware she had Anna's bedhead going on for her and she never let staff see her like that. Oops.

She was making her way for the stairs when she heard a greeting called her way. "Queen Anna! My, I didn't expect to catch you this morning!"

Menander. Of course it was Menander, so early catching her leaving the kitchen when she was in a hurry. And yet, she couldn't pretend she didn't hear him so she stopped and turned. "Hello Menander!" she said with a smile. "You're...you're up early."

"As are you!" Menander was dressed in an excessively large robe. It was a deep red with lines embroidered around the bottom to resemble lighter red flames. On the chest of his rob was the runic letter Wyn in black. It looked brand new, and Elsa couldn't shake the feeling he had chosen that morning to show it off for some reason.

That man was very odd. "Sort of. I woke up thirsty and I won't be able to get the rest of the sleep I need if I don't take care of that," she said lamely.

"Ah, I think a portion of your staff and people could stand to do the same," he said with a chuckle. "I've hardly seen anyone else awake, which means the party was enjoyed."

"Something like that." She didn't want everyone out of it for the day when the world kept going and there were still discussions to be had and papers to be signed. But perhaps it could buy her and Anna more time to get going. Elsa felt fine, but...

"Are you taking water to your sister?"

"Huh? Oh.." she had started to space out. Maybe she was a little hungover.

He motioned to the pitcher. "Lots of water for one person."

"Yes." Elsa nodded. Would it matter much if she mentioned they shared the bed? They had many times before, so...

"I will let you get back to her as I ask the kitchen about a special breakfast," Menander said, bowing his head. "Please tell Elsa I said hello."

Elsa had been worked up to defend Anna passing out in her room, but Menander didn't even question it. As a result she remembered his words from the night before and suddenly felt the need to ask him a question. She called out as he started to turn. "Wait, Menander! Can I ask you something?"

He whirled right back around to regard her with a wide grin. "Of course, fair queen! What would you ask of me?"

Why was he so dramatic? "Well, it's a little strange but you see I...Olaf found this book and I couldn't quite answer him, and all your talk of twin flames yesterday morning..." She took a deep breath as she rambled much like Anna. "True love is the most powerful force in the world, right?"

"Powerful doesn't do it justice!" Menander expressively waved his hand. "It is the most beautiful force, the most awe-inspiring, sometimes the most painful and the most terrifying! It is a limitless power!"

"Okay...but what if...what if true love doesn't break a spell? What if love is definitely the key, but somehow it isn't working?"

"The answer still lies in true love, dear queen!"

Elsa tried to hide her irritation at that response. "But the true love, it's there, it's expressed, but it isn't working. The power of the spell still remains. The love is strong, but could it possibly not be strong enough?" Her heart ached at those last few words.

"Nonsense." Menander shook his head. "It is plenty strong, it just begs for a secret to come forth, or for a hurt to be understood. It calls for a balance."

At those words her mind was already working. When Anna learned of her powers and Elsa ran away, love still persisted as Anna reached out to find her pain, to try and soothe it, and to eventually save her. Elsa loved her then strongly too, but it was Anna who settled it all with her persistance and actions.

Was she as capable as her loving Anna?

"Huh. So something needs to be...learned, and done, or..."

"Perhaps simply understood, since some things cannot be changed." Menander shrugged. "Ah but that is merely what I have come to learn. Maybe this book that you - ah, Olaf - has an answer hidden deep in it. You just need to take your time reading."

"Hmm." Elsa stared at him, and then sighed. "Thank you, Menander. I-I better get back up with this pitcher," she said.

"Of course," he said, nodding his head to her again. "I hope to see you later this morning as we prepare to travel home!" he told her, turning away slowly, smiling at her as he did. "But if you so desire to spend every moment with your true love, I more than understand." And with that, he walked away.

Elsa turned his words over in her head, wishing she could get a firm grasp on them. There was something yet to be understood and balanced, but she had no clue what. Elsa was smart enough to know there was pain of the past to overcome. But as she recognized that and would be stepping up to the issues, why did the swap persist?

Her mind was working hard even as she entered the bedroom. Anna was laying down on her back, her eyes half closed. "Anna?" Elsa asked quietly as she approached the bed.

"Mmm I started falling back asleep...but head is throbbing..." Anna said weakly.

"I bet it is." Elsa rounded the bed to the nightstand, watching her step around Anna's snowpuke. It had some discoloration near the bottom and she had to look away quickly. "Sit up and have some water," she said as she poured a glass. She held it to Anna who groaned as she sat up.

"How long were you gone? It felt like a long time!"

Elsa laughed. "Not long at all. I happened across Menander and didn't want to be rude so I greeted him."

"Oh." Anna gulped down half her glass at once. "Did he look as bad as me?"

"You look fine."

"You have to say that, it's your face," Anna said with a little grin, followed by a cringe. "Ow, head."

"You always look beautiful to me, Anna, you know this," Elsa told her as she studied her own hungover features. That didn't even look like her! Surely she didn't look that dopey. "He looked fine."

Anna blushed. "Oh...I guess he didn't drink much."

"Maybe." Elsa had poured her own glass, drinking it slowly. "Anna if you're not well when I have to get up, please stay here. I know you want to stick next to me but I don't want you feeling even sicker."

Anna stopped in the middle of gulping more water and looked at her with wide eyes. "But..but Elsa!"

Elsa stepped closer to stroke her head. "I won't be going anywhere. I'll just be doing your queenly duties, you know that. And I'll check on you." She didn't want Anna to end up taking herself out harder by forcing herself to tag along.

"..." Anna looked at her glass instead. "As soon as I feel better I'm tagging along!" she declared.

"Of course." Elsa watched Anna finish her water and set her own glass down too, nearly done with it. She crawled onto the bed and over Anna very carefully. The bruise on her hip had begun to hurt. She lowered herself to the bed she could already feel Anna's hands on her arm and side, bringing her closer. It was adorable. Elsa smiled at Anna, letting her sister roll on her side and pull her closer. She draped herself over her and Elsa looked at her face. It was maybe an inch away. "You feel okay laying like that?"

"It helps, actually," Anna said as she wiggled closer. She closed her eyes and let out a happy sigh. If it worked, it worked, and Elsa wasn't going to stop her.

While Anna fell asleep, Elsa still didn't. She was so troubled! How was she supposed to figure anything out...Anna had been pretty honest with her the night before but that was under the influence of alcohol and she wasn't into getting her drunk just to talk to her. That didn't seem right.

She laid there for a while before the light poured in generously and she knew it was time to wake for her duties. Anna was still out. "Anna..." Elsa said her name quietly and gently shook her shoulder. "Anna I need to get up."

"None for me, thanks, just the flowers" Anna muttered in her sleep and didn't budge.

Elsa quieted a chuckle and stroked her face. "Anna, I'm going to move, okay?"

When there was nothing but a little sound, Elsa carefully moved herself away. The loss of Anna's touch was rough and her bruises throbbed, but she got herself going. Anna settled into the bed with a light groan and a frown but she didn't wake up.

She was adorable.

Elsa smiled at her and brought the blankets back up over her before she quietly moved on to select a dress. She chose a light and gorgeous dress similar to what Anna had worn when they had searched for a tradition on that holiday a couple years prior. The dress she chose had splashes of a nice pink along the sleeves and on the torso, narrowly escaping being an eyesore. Elsa combed out her hair and tied it back in a braid again. She wanted to leave it down but thought better of it.

When she was ready for the day, she crept up to Anna and leaned down. She kissed her on the cheek and nuzzled her. "I will see you later, my darling," she whispered in her ear.

Then the day started. It was miserable.

Elsa could not focus one bit.

The whole day and night before was a whirlwind for her and she found herself going over all of it, from the happy parts to the worried parts. She'd decided to stay, and on that she wasn't wavering. How would the other spirits react? Would the Northuldra see it as an insult? In her heart she did feel everyone would understand. It was time for her to depart from Ahtohallan as her home. However the anxious part of her buzzed loudly in her skull.

If only Anna were right there with her, as she signed papers. If only Anna were with her as she went over a trade route with her council. If only Anna were there as she finally sat down to a late breakfast by herself and poked idly at the waffles served to her.

All she had to do was look into her eyes and she knew her decision was solid and true.

But Anna wasn't there, so Elsa sipped her hot tea while hoping her beloved would wake up soon to join her.

Just then she heard the door to the dining room and looked up hopefully. In about half a second she realized the footsteps didn't match at all and she spied Olaf running in to join her. "Oh, good morning Olaf!" she greeted him.

"Hi!" He waved a stick hand and kept going to the table. He pulled himself into a chair right across from Elsa so he could face her. "Where's Anna?" he asked her.

"In bed. She was not feeling too well," Elsa told him, wondering how she felt now.

"Oh! ...Oooh." Olaf frowned. "Sorry. I should have stopped bringing her drinks, but she was having fun," he said, giving Elsa a guilty look.

"She also could have stopped herself from drinking them at any time. Besides, it wasn't just the drinks, it was-"

"-the cheese?" Olaf finished and laughed when Elsa nodded. "Kristoff had to start reminding her not to have wine and cheese because it didn't combine well for her."

"I didn't know that." She really didn't! It alarmed Elsa and puzzled her to realize she didn't know something about her sister. She thought she knew everything. Then again, before she left for the forest, she could imagine Anna didn't really want to be seen when sick off alcohol and cheese.

"It...oh I did it again! Too late now. It embarrassed her so she hid it from everyone until Kai caught her throwing up one morning. Wait." Olaf squinted. "She's in your body, do you get sick from it?"

"Sometimes...if I eat a lot of one and drink a lot of the other," Elsa said and sighed. Either body was going to have trouble with all that she guessed but not knowing still bothered her. "I hope she feels better soon."

Olaf was still studying her. "Are you okay?"

"Yes...?" she lied.

"No you're not. I can tell because you aren't eating at all! What's wrong?" he prodded.

"Uh, well..." Elsa hesitated, but she knew she could trust Olaf. He said a lot of strange things, sometimes too much, but he still didn't share her secrets. "I'm very worried about her. Olaf, something is keeping us from changing back, and I think it's Anna's sadness, but I don't...I don't know how to get to the bottom of that. You felt yesterdays happiness."

Olaf laughed and closed his eyes for a long second. "Yes, I did," he finally answered as he reopened them. "It was wonderful!"

Elsa smiled back at him, glancing down at the tabletop before she continued. "That in mind, I don't understand what's going on. Anna was so happy you could feel it in you. I could feel it. We talked last night and-and stuff." Olaf didn't need to hear the details of their kissing. "I've never felt quite this happy, even when I've ridden Nokk across a quiet frozen ocean. Anna is my world and why I was able to-to grow." Anna was her key to everything.

"I think this is the happiest Anna has ever been, too. I mean I only knew her after you freaked out and made me, but she's even happier than she was for those three years!"

"Those three years..." A small portion of both their lives. "And...after that? Kristoff has already told me some, and Anna did herself last night. I thought she got out what she needed to."

"Did she talk about the cave?" Olaf asked abruptly.

"Huh? Oh, you mean when...well, we did talk about it at one point months ago. I apologized. I felt awful, I still feel awful." Her heart ached for the time Anna had spent in the cave she spoke of. It sounded cold, wet, and terrible. She felt like a monster for what she had put her through...

"But how much did she say?" Olaf tilted his head a little. "Anna was destroyed...I mean I was, um, well I wasn't there. But I still know that."

Elsa nodded slowly. Her stomach hurt and she couldn't even touch her tea. "Yes..."

Olaf just looked at her for a minute. He seemed to be internalizing, trying to make his thoughts into words. "Anna told me a few weeks ago. She wanted to give up in the cave. She still wanted to give up after the forest was free, before she saw you again."

"Give up..." Elsa's blood suddenly felt ice cold.

"I don't know exactly what she meant," Olaf told her with concerned eyes. "Maybe she didn't mean what you think she did. But if you hadn't returned alive, she would never be okay again. I know that."

"But Anna is so strong. She doesn't need me to be able to continue forward with her life." Even as she said it, she knew it wasn't true. Anna was indeed strong, she persevered and she pushed on every day! At the same time, Anna's energy was wrapped forever in her own. With their souls brutally ripped apart Anna would have no hope. No future. Though Elsa came back that day she damaged Anna forever.

She wanted to throw up.

"Without you she's been so sad."

"I know," Elsa said as her head spun. She would never leave Anna, but she could never repair what she had done. What if she did hurt her again? She felt like a copy of herself. Elsa was unable to focus on anything, almost unable to breath when a stick hand touched her own.

Olaf waited until she looked up at him. "Hey. You can't change what happened. The past is in the past."

"But it still hurts. It still hurts Anna...I hurt Anna."

"Not anymore?" It was a question and a hopeful one, but so naive it made her even more anxious.

Elsa could only shrug. "I hope not. I don't want to. I want to make sure the rest of her life is beautiful and that she we always feel loved." She wanted to spend all her time giving Anna the dedication she deserved, make up for everything. "I want to beg her forgiveness for all I've put her through..."

"You know she'll give you that." Olaf stated it simply as he gave her a bright look.

"I know." She didn't deserve it. But she would do what she could to earn it. Starting with...oh no! "The fire!"

Olaf jumped and his eye widened. "Fire!? Where? What fire? I'll get the guards!"

"No, no Olaf." Elsa got to her feet quickly. "I meant to start a fire for her in the room and forgot. I know she doesn't feel the cold but it's still peaceful, it's...I forgot! How could I do that," she was annoyed at herself. All that talk of making Anna feel good, and she had forgotten to do that. While she knew Anna would not be bothered about it, she didn't like how she felt about forgetting.

"Oh, oooh go do that!" Olaf said, waving her off. "I'll take care of the dishes!"

"Okay!" Elsa said, smoothing her dress down. "I'm going to- I'm going to do that. And Olaf, thank you," she said honestly. She owed him. "Thank you so much..."

"The fire!"

"Right!" Elsa smiled and rushed off, not even thinking about whatever she had to do next. Take care to put out royal documents she needed delivered, maybe? She'd get to it. For the time being she needed to take care of Anna and see if she could get her talking, see what more she could dig into.

When she arrived at the room she got an unfortunate sight. All of her energy dropped out of her and she sagged in the doorway.

Anna wasn't in bed and the room was empty.

#Frozen 2 #Elsanna #fanfic #elsa #anna #olaf #body swap

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musicofglassandwords · 5 years ago

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COS snippet #19

right after Xander gets kidnapped by the King

fair warning, this is a VERY long snippet

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Jay stood very still as Lyssa sat down gracefully on the lounge chair; her emotions were currently constructed like delicate sheets of glass, ready to shatter at any given moment.

When they had learned that the King had taken Xander, the entire household had been thrown into chaos, and Jay had found it very difficult to handle the fact that Xander being gone was all on him. Guilt had eaten at him, as well as misery and sorrow, but compared to the Lumens of Xekanzi, his pain had been nothing.

Kai had gone straight to the river, wading in until he was chest deep, and burnt out his anger for days and days, until the river was nothing but dry sandstone. He’d gasped with an uncontainable fury and often, when one looked out of a castle window, one could see fire lighting up the sky as the Lumen expressed his rage in the only way he could.

Iken had taken off on Ennis’ back, and the two of them had soared in the skies for hours and hours, returning only when Ennis had roared out his fury and Iken’s tears had frozen in the sky.

Vera had screamed and destroyed her room, sobbing until restless sleep had overtaken her, while Roze had sat without moving on her bed until Lyssa had gently taken her and Vera and Iken aside, and soothed them until she had convinced them of her own absence of hers.

Jay remembered seeing her head towards the roof where Ennis lay, his tail curled around him protectively and whispered to him until the massive dragon had stilled.

Years of etiquette classes had taught him to be tactful, comforting, and encouraging, but he hadn’t quite known what to do when Lyssa had finally gone and locked herself in the training room for three days straight.

When they had finally pulled her out, her knuckles had been bloody, hair stringy with sweat and her muscles sore from overuse. Kai had picked her up despite her protests, and helped her bind up her wounds.

Lyssa had an spirit harder than diamond, stronger than any heartbreak.

But she had already endured so much. Cracks had been building up within her heart all these years, and finally something in her had broken.

“Do you want to say anything before I tell you how we might go save Xander?” Jay said tentatively, sitting down across from her.

“Yes,” she said, her face tight with pain and sorrow. She inhaled deeply, taking a shuddering breath and building a wall between her tears and reality. “Because there are something you need to know.”

“I never held a grudge against my adoptive parents for giving me up,” she said slowly, her eyes cool when she looked at Jay. “I never hated them, because Xan was always there. His heart was constantly full of anger and bitterness, I knew that, but he still showed me so much love even at such a young age.”

“When I was younger, I had no idea that he wasn’t my biological brother. Everywhere he went, even in the most dangerous places, I begged to go with him. I would have followed him unto death.” she paused, “I still would.”

She was completely still, but her fingernails cut deep into her palms, tiny droplets of blood staining her white skirts.

“If I was with Xan, as long as my brother was with me. I was alright. Even though there were times where he left for days at a time in order to find us food or to get a place for us to live for a bit, I knew, I always knew that he would come back. And no matter what, he always did.”

“When you are younger, you have blind faith and blind belief in the ones you love and trust, but it doesn’t take long for something like that to dissolve when you grow older, and you realize that your heroes are just as sinful as yourself. But with Xan, that never happened. Even though I know he does cruel and ruthless things, I know he is not lost yet, and he has never been anything but loving to me. Every time we are funning for our lives, and he needs to go in order to save us, I know, I know that he will come back to me. I believe that I will hear his voice again, the one that always used to call to me whenever I was lost. And I fear what will happen if I never hear him again.”

Jay was silent, nodding as Lyssa lifted up her bowed head.

“Which is why you need to understand that between choosing the lives of you and your kinsmen and my brother, I will not hesitate to let you burn.”

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“Here, Lyss,” she looked up from her book, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and took the glass of cold rose tea Kai held out to her gratefully. “What are you looking at?”

“Some tricks for close combat,” she said, sitting up as he sank down beside her on her bed, and showing him the title of the book, “We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

“I know, Iken spent the last two hours begging me to be able to come,” he said, flopping onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.

“Oh, I should put him to bed,” Lyssa started to rise up, glancing quickly out the window, where the sky had already turned to a tapestry of black.

“Already did it,” Kai said, running a hand through his hair, “Roze and Ver are asleep as well.”

“Thank you, Kai,” she said gratefully, tugging on the end of her braid, “I haven’t been as attentive as I should have been to them. Poor babies.”

“It’s alright, Lyss. I can handle them.”

She smiled at him, for real, her heart warm with affection for him, “Of course you can.”

His grin was lazy as she curled next to him, her book forgotten on the floor, and his hand gently brushed her shoulder.

“You’re my favorite, Kai,” she murmured softly.

“I know,” he said, an echo of a sigh in his voice, “You’re my favorite too.”

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The boy drowning in flames lay awake in the weak moonlight, hands fisting at his sides as pain tore through him again and again.

He never got better at handling the pain, and he swallowed a gasp as it burned in his veins.

He shifted but immediately froze when he felt Lyssa stir next to him.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered sleepily.

“Nothing,” he pulled the blanket back over her head, “Go back to sleep, kejan.”

“Is the pain really bad?” she yanked the blanket back down, pushing a pillow into his face, “I’ll go get you some water.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said stubbornly, biting back a cry as it seared his insides, shredding his nerves to bits.

“Okay,” she said, wrapping an arm around him and drawing him close to her.

And that was so much worse.

What I wish I could tell you, he thought, what I wish you could know

That you are so good and worthy of being loved, and I wish, I wish you could be joyful forever.

And forgive me

For being there for you.

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(During the battle with Arid, the king’s general)

Fierce, the wind whispered to her, fight.

Break or be broken.

And you will break someday.

But not today.

Her fingers curled over the slippery handle of the knife, and she stood up, blood streaming from her face, like poisonous tears.

“Who are you?” Arid asked boredly, “Stand down.”

His voice was uncaring, as he directed a pair of soldiers to pin her down. Behind their glittering armor, she caught sight of her brother being held up by Arid’s lieutenant, his eyes defiant.

He glanced up despite his injuries and caught sight of Lyssa, his eyes flashing black with horror. He shook his head, making a muffled sound through his gag, crying out.

Despite the cloth wrapped around his mouth, the words were audible to Lyssa.

Don’t touch my sister!

And time stopped for a moment.

She could see Xander, gagged, blood watering the earth, his eyes black and haunted. His brilliant white hair greasy and smeared with soot and red.

And she saw the little boy who had reached out to a girl barely older than a baby and protected her for years and years, until he was finally strong enough to let her go.

She saw her brother leaving her.

She saw her only family leaving her because she was too weak to chase after them.

And in the deepest recesses of her memories, she remembered sobbing her heart out after their adoptive parents had thrown them out, and Xander, barely seven years old had clumsily wiped her tears away.

“You’re still my sister,” he’d assured her, “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

I’ll take care of you.

She remembered being eleven years old, dragging Kai along with her as she followed Xander into the steel market, remembered his look of horror as he saw her behind him, saw her staring at the blood and weapons and poison around them.

Remembered him pulling her behind him, later demanding why she’d followed him.

“I wanted to go with you, bije,” she’d smiled then, the feel of the Veyan word for brother sweet on her tongue.

Her eyes burned, blood sticky on her face, pain fracturing her sanity to bits as she leaned on her broken leg.

Pain is nothing, she muttered to herself, it is nothing.

And she drew her weapon.

Stepped forward.

Her aim was always true.

And her brother was worth dying for.

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Tagging: @writingqueensworld @dowings@joyful-soul-collector @thescholarsninja @stuffaboutwriting @panic-at-my-sexuality @nomadian-novelist @waterfallofinkandpages @tragedyshow @onthewingsofwords @writingonesdreams @stories-by-rie @qlpwrites @sunlight-and-starskies

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#city of shards #writing #my writing #writeblr #violetvineyard #fantasy #lyssa #kai #xander #snippet

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meteorstricken · 5 years ago

Text

FFVII Rare Pair Week Day 1 Prompt: Weight of the World

“Kill Switch”

Tifa stared out from the Highwind's deck at the Lifestream creeping up from the cracked ground, joining with Holy to repel Meteor. The fight was over, the future quite possibly still ahead. A momentary wave of relief washed over her, but she recoiled against it. More than against the apocalyptic scene before her, she faltered at the uncertain future--that directionless path she'd have to walk while she digested all she'd done, what it had done to everyone else, and all she'd survived. She'd have to take it in and try to carry on…how? Like normal? Normal: What was that word supposed to mean anymore?

She supposed normal was whatever they chose or tried to make of it, but the thought alone was exhausting.

Too much. It was too much. "Just let it wash away everything…" She couldn't bear to face it-- having been run ragged from surviving too many times, the crushing guilt, the idea of going on after what she'd seen. "…My past. Our past. And me, too." Now that Sephiroth wouldn't personally benefit; now that it was the planet acting of its own accord to preserve itself, she felt she could accept the end. Privately, selfishly, part of her hoped for it.

A rogue Lifestream tendril buzzed the ship, blinding her. Tifa ducked reflexively, covering her head when she heard shattering glass. They weren't making it out of this after all. The planet really was done with them, and it wasn't going to let it be easy. Her heart raced. They were going crash into the ocean, where they might drown or get eaten by something, and they were--they were still pressurized. The ship was still pressurized. And eerily still.

It had grown silent, and suddenly dark. Holy's glaring light, the Lifestream's brilliant green, sweeping flow, and even Meteor's fiery approach had dulled somehow. "Cloud?" she called. "Barret? Nanaki?"

No one answered.

The anxious chill she'd felt turned frigid. Her regrets and misgivings for the future found themselves mercilessly sidetracked. Rising to her knees, Tifa grasped the edge of the window she'd been gazing out. A dark, liquid haze had overtaken the combating magical forces, veiling their terrible lightshow with something even more ominous.

"Everyone…" a word pounded in her head, a command from nowhere.

"Yuffie? Cid?" she yelled this time.

"…everything…all finished…" Another utterance pulsed through her whole body.

Tifa shuddered. No, that was impossible. "It can't…Vincent? Cait?"

And then, she booked. She ran out of the bridge, scrambled through the machinery room. She threw open the operation room to find it just as vacant. Even the single gold chocobo they'd carted along (and terrorized when the Highwind came crashing into the crater) in the small, onboard stable was missing.

That left only the deck. In slower, but still-urgent strides, Tifa approached the door. They had to be out there, trying to get a better look at what was going on. Maybe she'd gotten a little too lost in her thoughts to notice. It would have been nice if someone had told her, but she couldn't really blame anyone. They had to be just as confused.

Sliding it to one side, her shoulders sagged. It too was empty. The ship was miraculously still aloft, but she was the only one left aboard.

Time had seemingly stopped dead in its tracks. Chains of Lifestream stood on end from their fissures, unmoving like plastic seaweed in a fish tank. Holy--whatever wasn't covered in the black mist--appeared as a sheet of crystal suspended in the nighttime sky, while Meteor was a flaming moon with a suspiciously close orbit.

Tifa stepped up to the guardrail, planted her hands on the bar, and lowered her head in defeat. It…it was always going to come to this, wasn't it? After the night she and Cloud had shared together under the Highwind, waiting for everyone to return to them--or not--with their own reasons to fight for the planet, something else had taken hold in her. An uneasiness she wasn't familiar with, or the personification of that unease. Whatever it was, it felt like something with its own ideas; not really a part of herself. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that what Shinra's scientists had put in him that had allowed Sephiroth to control him was now in her as well. She'd hidden it so well from Cloud, Barret, and the others, though. She'd told herself it didn't matter. Her mind simply needed to remain strong enough--that was the trick, according to Cloud--to go fight Sephiroth and defeat him, or die trying. Once that was over, the whole thing would be a moot point.

And she had held on so well too, down through the crater's treacherous paths, and even as they'd fought Sephiroth's monstrous and self-aggrandized forms. Her will had remained her own.

But Sephiroth had been watching her, specifically, the whole time. She could feel him, smug and accusatory of her silence, playing around the edges of her mind, reminding her that he knew his foot was in her door, and that he was there to stay. That she'd serve her purpose--his purpose--yet. When the last wisps of spirit energy that had been him had dispersed, Tifa truly believed she was off the hook. Cloud had won his fight, physically and mentally, against the man, and it would be good enough for her as well. He was fighting for both of them anyway, right?

She felt foolish: Cloud was free; she was not. In retrospect, she'd hidden behind him, or her need to protect him the whole time, too afraid that her new predicament might drag him back down. There was no way she could bring herself to unload when he'd only just pieced himself back together.

And now?

"Now it ends with you, Tifa," Sephiroth intoned triumphantly, materializing from the twisted, smoky fingers of dark matter that had started to descend from the blackened sky overhead.

She'd played her part, acting as an antenna for what should have been a dead man's will; becoming a convenient last-minute kill-switch for if his plans went awry. How much of her desperation had been her own? How much of it was his influence? Her reasons were her own, at least. She had to take credit for that. Credit that, at the last minute, even surrounded by friends in aftermath of a hard-won victory and far too much sacrifice, she'd managed to succumb to similar conclusions about the world that Sephiroth had--some of the same ones that had guided his twisted crusade for godhood.

What did that say about her? Was it really just the Jenova cells, or had her own traitorous mind made her so useful to Sephiroth as well?

"So it does," she bit out and looked away. Away from him, and up at his Meteor through stinging eyes, which hung obscene and garish over Midgar, slowly pressing fractures into the frozen Holy spell. Tifa wondered if he'd hurry it along now that he had her cornered, or if he'd simply stand here and watch it come down like a personal sunset. "What did you do with my friends?"

"I am them. They are me."

A bitter hiccup of a laugh escaped Tifa's throat. "You're not half of one of them."

"If that is how you wish to delude your last moments, I will not prevent you."

"…Then why am I still here?"

Sephiroth smirked and waved one hand slightly, directing the black energy to weave through Holy's cracks, causing them to widen and spread. A sound like a growling behemoth miles away filled the air as Meteor resumed its now barely-impeded descent.

He hovered close behind her and replied, "To watch it all wash away."

#ffviirarepairweek #sephtifa #Sephiroth #Tifa #ffvii #darkfic

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killthebxy · 6 years ago

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post--- season finale verses

one important note to remember: for strictly show-based scenarios, i headcanon that Jon died fighting undead!Viserion. everything that i write after this point will be plotted with that specific roleplay partner, and i will NOT acknowledge ANY of the events of episodes 4-6 in the way they were presented. you can find a summary of all my points of divergence from s08 on: this post. with this said, all my post-finale interactions will be placed in one of the following verses --- and everyone is welcome to come plot with me for one or more of them. for organization’s sake, i’m further dividing these verses into two main categories.

interactions at King’s Landing

verse 1 this verse is heavily based on everything @zcldrizes and i have plotted together, and deviates from show!canon for seasons 05-08. while i won’t bore anyone with the details, if you’d like to know more, you are always welcome to poke me about it. the main events for s05-07 remain the same, as well as for s08 episodes 1 and 2. starting with episode 3, the changes are the following:

the battle for Winterfell is lost and the Dead take the castle. Arya does not destroy the Night King, rather his second in command. this causes a great number of the wights to crumble, as they had been turned by this Other --- which, in turn, allows for the humans to regroup a bit and escape. by mounting as many survivors as possible on top of Drogon and Rhaegal, they head for Dragonstone.

at Dragonstone, a council decides that pushing for an alliance with Cersei and her armies is inevitable. Jon and Daenerys head for King’s Landing --- whoever accompanies them is dependent on the thread. having heard news of the fall of Winterfell, as well as the Dead by now being as far into the realm as the Neck, Cersei is finally open to a truce and temporary alliance --- still, she demands Jon be taken as her prisoner till the eve of battle, as a way to ensure none of this is a trick to usurp her throne. this condition is accepted, and preparations begin.

the real battle for the Dawn happens outside King’s Landing, with the rest of Westeros up north, west, and east already overtaken by the Long Night. first battle stage: Daenerys rides Drogon, aided by Rhaegal, to knock the Night King off of Viserion. Viserion is therefore destroyed by his mother and brothers. second battle stage: Jon fights always on the ground, commanding every warrior in the realms of men allied for this cause. the main objective is to get to the Night King. Arya and Jon collaborate for this, respectively as Azor Ahai and Lightbringer --- Arya is the savior who destroys the Night King, Jon is the tool used to bring this salvation.

in post-battle, the fate of every protagonist is dependent on the thread. by default, Jon and Dany get married and rule the realm together. the North and Dorne are given independence, as will any other kingdom who desires so and vows to keep the crown’s peace. Daenerys is the rightful heir and queen. Jon is king consort, but more commonly known as Lord Protector of the Realm. he is also once again elected lord commander of the Night’s Watch (more info on this can be found on the following verses).

verse 2 this verse is similar to the previous one, as far as dynamics go, with the difference that the battle for Winterfell is won. Jon and Daenerys do not grow apart. when leaving for Dragonstone, Ghost goes along with Jon. the deaths of Rhaegal and Missandei are not acknowledged. King’s Landing is taken and, once the bells ring, the surrender is accepted. Cersei’s fate, along with her court, is dependent on the thread. by default, Jon and Dany get married and rule the realm together, in similar terms to the previous verse --- however, i am open to plot a possible marriage/alliance with another monarch.

interactions at Castle Black/ the Wall

verse 3 this verse follows the premise that Jon and Daenerys were never in love/ were never in a relationship. they work together as allies in a way similar to s07 and s08, and the war is won in a way similar to described in verse 2. with peace returned, Jon wants nothing to do with power or ruling or thrones, and he decides by himself to return to the Night’s Watch, as he considers that is where he belongs. my headcanons related to the changes that are implemented on the Night’s Watch from here on can be found on: this post.

verse 4 (warning: explicit mention of suicide) this verse is the only scenario in which i acknowledge the possibility of Daenerys burning down King’s Landing. it defaults to @zcldrizes ‘s idea that she accidentally sets off the stash of wildfire under the city, provoking a chain reaction along with Drogon’s fire as he burns down the city gate at the beginning of the battle --- although i am open to plot different ideas. in this verse, Rhaegal and Missandei died in the ways portrayed by the show. this grief, together with the loss of Jorah and now the chaos she unwillingly provoked, push Dany past the limit of her mental integrity and she ends up taking her own life in the throne room. Jon, who tried to rush to her, is too late and is unable to change the course of events. Jon is accused of murdering the queen, and he makes no attempt to deny it nor to defend his case --- his own trauma and guilt leading him to believe that, having failed to protect her, he is as good as responsible for her death. in time, his trauma makes him believe he, indeed, killed her by his own hand. the meeting of the council happens as in episode 6, and Jon is sentenced to lifetime exile at the Night’s Watch. the changes implemented are similar to what is described in verse 3.

#long post #「ᵖˢᵃ ᵗᵃᵍ」ᵃ ᵇᵃˢᵗᵃʳᵈ ʰᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ˡᵉᵃʳᶰ ᵗᵒ ᶰᵒᵗᶤᶜᵉ ᵗʰᶤᶰᵍˢ

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alphawave-writes · 5 years ago

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Confessions (NSFW Sigma x Harold Winston)

Synopsis: Cardinal Siebren de Kuiper is a holy man and a respectable member of the Papacy. But Pope Alba, known once as Harold Winston, is intent on making him sin. And he's got just the silver tongue to make Siebren weak.

My friend vainsh on twitter made a series of drawings of Pope!Harold and priest!Sigma and I just HAD to write it. Literally, took me like three hours to write this and I am TIRED but it is worth it. Enjoy pope smut. I’ll see you all in hell XD

Cardinal Siebren de Kuiper knows Pope Alba by many names. He knows him as His Holiness. He knows him as the Holy Father. Most often, in the privacy of their own company, he knows him by his Christian name, Harold Winston, and is one of very few allowed to speak the name to existence.

However, in that moment, he has a new name for the Pope.

“S-sir.”

“Ssshh,” Harold whispers soothingly. “Be quiet for me, will you?”

For years Siebren has wondered how a mild-mannered man like Harold Winston could ever compete for the title of pope. He does not play the game for papacy. He is a half-caste man of American and Chinese origins. He has resorted to no bribery, no tricks to keep his position, and yet he secures a majority vote and took over as pope without so much as a speck of blood on his hands.

It’s now that Siebren knows better. Harold’s hands may be clean, but that does not mean he is innocent. His mind is sharp, and his tongue is silver. People hang on his every breath and word, so adept his tongue is, that they do not realise the way the sentences curl around their body and pull them into the spider’s web. His hands are clean because his tongue is so dirty. His tongue is so, so dirty.

Siebren stands with furrowed brows, fists shaking at his side as Harold’s tongue flickers over his puckered hole. He’s bent forward and pushed against the wall, shame-faced but wanting as Harold’s hands roam over his ass. The pleasures of the flesh have evaded him for so long that every little touch feels like hellfire on his skin. He wonders if the Lord is up there in Heaven, watching the new apostolic successor of Saint Peter ravage another man so eagerly.

“G-god,” he whimpers.

Harold chuckles under his breath. “Do you dare speak the lord’s name in vain?”

A desperate huff escapes his lips. Siebren is ready to reprimand himself then and there. Oh Lord, blessed be thy name, forgive me for the sin I shall commit. He lets his head fall lower, resting on the arms pressed on the wall. His body is shaking and he doesn’t know if it’s from guilt or ecstasy.

The tongue slides so easily into his ass, almost like that is the divine purpose of a tongue. And it’s not a particularly long one but heavens, does Harold know how to use it. Penetrating the tip in, curling and twisting within, pulling these sinful sounds from Siebren’s mouth. He flicks and licks, sliding in and out like it is another appendage entirely. There have been days where Siebren wants to shut that mouth up for good, to trap that incessant tongue and let it speak no more words, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that this is how he finally shuts Harold up for good. He never imagined it to feel so wrong and right all at the same time.

His cock is quivering, dripping fluid onto the holy floors of the Vatican, staining his black cassock. If anyone could see him, they would know of his sinful misdeed. They would never suspect the Pope of doing such a thing, such a paragon of virtue and faith he is. They would never suspect the Pope of being consumed by the sin of lust, moaning into the cleft of another man’s ass.

Siebren can feel the dark threads of lust threaten to consume his mind. How he desires to remain a figure of chastity, to remain untouched and reject Harold’s advances, but he knows he cannot. His muscles do not respond to his commands, his legs widening to accommodate Harold, his muffled moans and groans spilling from his lips like the oldest wine. He is not a figure of innocence like Harold is. He’s committed so many sins. What is one more?

Harold’s tongue finally leaves and he groans lowly. How he hates this sudden feeling of empty coldness, like the devil has frozen his soul. But this emptiness is short-lived when a finger slowly pushes in. The sounds that leave Siebren’s throat are so wrong but they feel so right.

“You are good for me, Siebren,” Harold whispers. His finger pushes up to the second knuckle, and then the third. It feels so good. It feels heavenly. “So eager,” Harold chuckles.

Siebren muffles another cry when he feels the second finger slip in. They scissor within him, alternating in tandem as they thrust into him, fast yet gentle. Harold’s free hand grasps onto his shoulder, his lips breathing hot air on his collar before moving up, latching onto his earlobe. Another groan drips down his lips and is swallowed by his arm. He doesn’t know what will be worse: if the Pope’s guards hear him, or if the angels do. He doesn’t know whose judgment he fears more.

The fingers slip out of him and he shudders. It’s so embarrassing to be this weak. He’s supposed to be strong. Taller and bigger than all the other cardinals. A physical and mental threat. And yet here he is, his chest pressed onto the wall, trying to hide his groans from the guards that are barely more than a couple of metres away, enjoying every wicked touch that is placed on his body by a man so much smaller and weaker than him. A man whose every action reeks of love and sanctimonious satisfaction.

The hardness that presses into his backside makes Siebren gasp, first in surprise and then in shameful arousal. His own cock twitches eagerly. How he wants to let his hand lower down to his cock, to touch himself in that one place that has never been touched by another. He tries to fight the urge, but then a hand rakes down his spine slowly, gently.

“Do you want this, Siebren?” Harold breathes. He hides it well, but there’s a faint undercurrent of desperation in his voice. The lust has consumed him.

Siebren’s reminded of the first time he met Harold, back when they were both just cardinals. He notices the way Harold looked at him then but he could not decipher the meaning behind his heated gaze and lilting voice. He remembers how he felt that day, his heart speeding up and his chest tightening and his mind becoming cloudy with impure thoughts. He thought for so long that he hated Harold, or perhaps that Harold hated him. Now he knows that it is far from the truth.

“M-May I confess something, Holy Father?”

“Harold,” he corrects. “You know I never liked the stuffy titles.”

“H-Harold,” Siebren says. “I want to see you. Let me see you.”

Harold does not say a word. Siebren worries he might have said something wrong but then he hears the shuffle of fabric, the pop of a cap opening, and the squelching noises of oil being rubbed onto skin.

“Turn around for me,” Harold whispers.

Shakily, Siebren turns around, pressing his back on the wall. Harold’s smiling in such a delicious daze. His cheeks and lips are as red as the devil, and just as tempting. His cock is in his hand, stroking languidly. His other hand pushes Siebren against the wall, trailing down to lift one leg up over his shoulder. Siebren’s arms cling to Harold’s neck, pulling him close.

“May I confess something myself, Siebren?”

Siebren doesn’t know what to say. Harold’s cock is pressing at his entrance, never pushing in. He’s rocking his hips so eagerly, desperate to be filled and defiled.

“I’ve wanted you for years.”

Harold finally slides into him. Siebren crushes his lips into Harold’s, laving his tongue into the cave that is Harold’s mouth. They both moan into each other, swallowing each other’s noises, obscuring them from Earth and the Heavens. Harold’s hips still as his hand leaves his own to trace the outline of Siebren’s cock, still hidden in his cassock. Slowly he rumples the cassock up and grabs Siebren’s cock, rubbing and touching as much as he can.

It’s only the wall and Harold that keep him from falling down to hell. A part of him wants to fall. A part of him wants to fall so he won’t corrupt Harold with his presence. But the other part of him is trapped in the moment, tilting his hips to meet Harold’s thrusts, relishing in the noises he can pull from Harold’s mouth. Jesus speaks of love, but what does he know of this aching, overwhelming love that has overtaken his senses? What does he know of the pleasure that spins in Siebren’s gut, of the hot and wet noises two people can share with the melodic slide of flesh, of a love that is both tainted and pure at the same time?

There’s heat all over Siebren’s body, sweat dripping off every pore. Harold gazes upon him like he’s the most heavenly creature to ever divine this earth, kissing him so sweetly and so passionately. For a moment he feels like they are one, a single entity joined together by God’s grace, waiting for the holy light to consume them both in dazzling rays of warmth and happiness.

Harold is the first to let go. Trails of saliva connect their lips together. He’s breathing hard now, his eyes staring unfocusedly on Siebren’s cock. His strokes quicken, his hips bucking underneath him. His lips are swollen and glistening and beautiful. “Cum with me,” he moans. “I’m close. A-are you close?”

Siebren nods feverishly.

“Will you cum for me only when I tell you to?”

He feels the heat threatening to consume him. He’s not sure if it’s God’s light or the Devil’s hellfire. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. “P-please, Harold.”

“Then cum for me.”

His face scrunches up, his body shivers as a loud cry escapes his lips, and soon his thick cum shoots out of him as the light overwhelms him. Harold’s grip tightens, a shaky breath escaping his lips as he cums soon after. Fatigued, they collapse on each other, Siebren’s back sliding down the wall as they let themselves get dragged down (or perhaps up) to Earth.

Their cassocks are stained with cum and sweat. Their foreheads are covered in sweat. They’re still breathing hard, trying to catch their breath. Siebren gazes upon Harold, holding onto him, his arms wrapped around his waist before he curls his head into Siebren’s shoulder. There’s absolutely no way he can hide what he has just done, but for some reason he cannot bring himself to care. Maybe it is the light that still flows in his veins, or maybe it is the blessing of God above, but he feels peaceful and happy just having Harold hug him like this.

Siebren carefully raises his hand up to rub a soothing pattern down Harold’s back. Harold takes the glasses off his face and wipes them on a clean portion of his cassock. His hands sweep over his cassock, hiding his shrinking erection.

“That was…”

“Sinful,” Siebren finishes.

“I was going to say wonderful, but I guess I see where you’re coming from with this.”

Siebren’s jaw is set tight to stop himself from smiling. “We have committed a grave sin. To perform adultery, especially premarital adultery between two men, it won’t look kindly on us. Not by the church, not by the followers”

“But you felt good, did you not? I know I did, and I’m almost sure you did too.”

Harold takes Siebren’s hands in his own. Siebren sees the papal ring and out of guilt, presses a tender kiss to it.

“We should not let the world stop us from enjoying this earthly pleasure,” Harold says.” It is my duty, after all, to guide billions. It is your duty to guide me, Cardinal de Kuiper.”

He knows this emotion he feels for Harold transcends all human emotions. It makes him burn only to cleanse him in holy water. It torments him only so he shall feel salvation. It is hell only so he can better appreciate heaven. It is love, taking him up to soaring heights and dark depths.

Harold caresses his face with his hand. His tongue is so dirty but his smile is innocent. “What do you say?”

Siebren smiles microscopically as he leans forward and presses a soft kiss. “As a Cardinal of your Holiness, I shall do whatever it takes to enact your will.”

Harold smiles indulgently and licks his lips, a heavenly angel and a wicked demon all at once.

#Overwatch #Sigma #Siebren de kuiper #Harold Winston #Sigrold #I can't believe I wrote this in 3 HOURS!!#I think the last time I got so excited I wrote a fic in a day #was my very first Sigma fic #Which is technically THE first Sigma fic #Either way I am going to hell for this and I will enjoy the trip #Reblog this and spread the sin ;)

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lacrossepapi · 6 years ago

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Warmth

Hi! So this is my second gift to @tahlreth for the @stetersecretsanta exchange! I hope you like this! (The stiles edit is from this post so credit to @richgoranski for that cute ass edit!) Ao3: Link Words:2138 Chapters: 1/1

The Christmas season was here and Stiles was having more and more problems with his huge crush on Peter Hale. As the nights got colder Peter’s wardrobe shifted from attractive v-necks and dark jeans to soft looking warm sweaters and light wash jeans that showed just how tight they were much more clearly. Normally when Stiles looked at Peter Hale, sprawled out and reading on the couch in Derek’s loft, he wanted to throw himself at the older man. Stiles so desperately wanted to feel Peter’s lips against his, his facial against Stiles’ neck, his large rough hands against Stiles’ sensitive skin. Now looking at Peter Hale, sprawled out and reading on the couch in Derek’s loft under a blanket, Stiles wanted to curl up beside him and steal his warmth.

Stiles was much better at handling his crush when it had been more a physical drive, but these soft and gooey feelings were ruining his life.

He kept saying the werewolf’s name at every opportunity, “Good morning, Peter. Good afternoon, Peter. Hey Peter can you hand me that book? Thanks, Peter. Here you go, Peter.”

It was ridiculous.

He’d long ago had Deaton teach him how to make a potion to block his emotional scents and leave just his natural Stiles’ scent detectable. It’d only taken one Indiana Jones Marathon for Scott to tell him exactly how pungent his crush on Harrison Ford was, and that was just a celebrity crush. Hiding his scent wasn’t enough when his motor mouth was revealing too much anyways.

“Damn, Peter that sweater looks soft enough to nuzzle.” Stiles froze, flabbergasted he’d just said such an idiotic thing.

“Would you like to nuzzle me, Stiles?” The older man practically purred his name.

“I uh yeah gotta go. Dad’s at the place. Gotta go to there.” Was the absolute nonsense Stiles spewed as he ran from the loft.

Scott had called him to let Stiles know he’d gave Peter a lecture about being creepy, which only served to mortify Stiles further.

The problem was that Peter wasn’t just attractive, he was one of the smartest people Stiles knew and funny on top of that. Peter also had a protective loyal streak in him that made Stiles’ mouth water, he’d never met someone as devoted to their family as he was.

Everything was building inside Stiles until he felt his skin practically hum everytime Peter was near. He needed to touch, kiss, cherish Peter Hale.

“Why is he here?” Lydia hissed disdainfully as Peter entered with a pan of brownies in his hands.

“It’s pack night and the solstice.”

“He’s not pack.” Isaac grumbled from beside Lydia.

Stiles bit his tongue so that the pain would remind him not to open his mouth. He wasn’t ready to tell anyone about his crush, and Peter was a grown man who probably wouldn’t appreciate Stiles’ attempts to defend him.

That didn’t stop him from mumbling, “He is to me at least.”

Stiles look up to make sure none of the others were being rude to Peter and made eye contact with the man, who smirked at him. Stiles immediately flushed from the tips of his ears down to his chest, he had no idea if Peter had heard his quiet confession or not but was embarrassed either way.

“Stiles are you okay? Your face is red! Do you need some water?” Scott’s worry brought Stiles out of his mortified thoughts and broke his eye contact with Peter.

“I’m peachy Scotty boy. No problems here!” Stiles tried his best reassuring smile.

Scott nodded but brought him a cup of water anyways like the sweet friend he had always been.

Before the pack exchanged gifts Derek and Peter put a big log into the fire place, the room feel under a hush as everyone watched Derek and Peter light the log.

“What’s going on?” Erica asked, her voice loud in the quiet that had overtaken the loft.

Peter and Derek ignored her as they clasped hands and started speaking too low for Stiles to hear, but he knew what they were doing.

“They are lighting the Yule Log and praying for protection on the longest night of the year.” Stiles answered after the men had finished.

Peter flashed him a grin and Derek nodded before explaining further, “On the longest night of the year many nasty creatures come out to terrorize people caught unaware. The log needs to stay lit until morning otherwise they can get in.”

Stiles nodded his understanding, his family had always lit a Yule Log. The others still seemed a little confused so Stiles spoke up, “Its for protection. They prayed for help protecting this home and the people inside it so that whatever devious little monsters want to try their luck against a werewolf pack won’t be able to get in the chimney and wreak havoc.”

“Right as usual darling.” Peter’s voice was pleased as punch and Stiles found himself grinning in response.

Until Scott growled Peter’s name, that is.

Stiles flushed again.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch until Stiles realized the Yule Log was extinguished, “Peter! Derek!”

Both wolves were immediately in front of Stiles worried about Stiles’ panic. He didn’t even have to open his mouth before both wolves felt the absence of the Yule Log’s heat and were quickly lighting it again.

“What’s going on?” Scott’s confusion was usually endearing, but Stiles’ skin was crawling and his heart had started to race.

“Someone put out the Yule Log.” The words were short and sharp.

“Stiles? What’s wrong? It’s just a-”

“It’s not just a log! Or just a fire! You didn’t grow up with the stories Scott, you don’t understand. I’ve gotta call dad.” Stiles shoved Scott out of is personal space and quickly moved to the spiral staircase Peter usually claimed.

Stiles heaved a full bodied sigh of relief as his father confirmed that their Yule Log was still intact and hadn’t even flickered. He’d ask Deaton to check the wards again in the morning.

“Is everything alright with your father?” Peter’s hushed voice startled a yelp out of Stiles and sent his ass roughly to the next stair down.

“Uh- yeah. I think we’ve been targeted. I think those witches from a couple months back have decided to give us one more ‘Fuck You’. They’d know we have no way to cleanse the space or to even check if anything got in.” Stiles had been thinking it over since the moment he’d seen the cold fireplace.

“I agree, though your mangy little pack loves to hate me and have come to the consensus I put it out to scare them.” Peter sounded nonchalant but Stiles was already striding to the middle of the loft, fury pulsing through him.

“Listen to me because I’m only saying this once. Putting out the Yule Log is the same as opening a door. Those of you who were around should remember the consequences of a door that’s ajar.” Scott and Lydia flinched but Stiles continued, “No one in our pack would dare endanger us all like that.”

Liam opened his mouth to object, “Liam you have been through the least of Peter’s bullshit or Derek’s absences or just the general hell that has been Beacon Hills since the Hale’s were murdered and our town went unprotected, so please keep your thoughts to yourself on the guilt of Peter Hale.”

Stiles huffed once before turning his attention back to Scott and Derek, “Peter hasn’t been evil since he was killed and he hasn’t been against us since that bullshit he pulled a year or so ago, which he regrets. And if we can move past the in pack fighting I can go ahead and tell you that this is most likely a last ditch effort to take us out by that nasty witch from a couple of months ago.”

Stiles was about to tell Peter to get the shit-eating grin off his face when a knife landed in the middle of the wolf’s chest with a solid thunk. The sound that followed it sealed their fates, children’s laughter filled the loft ominously.

“Fuck me, it’s the Yule Lads.” Stiles groaned.

“I would darling but I seem to have a knife in my chest.”

“Shut up and get that out already, Peter.”

Peter chuckled before yanking the knife from his chest and throwing it on the ground dramatically.

Stiles rolled his eyes but quickly remembered there was danger near when Liam shouted as the couch flew straight at him.

“How do we fight these things?” Scott shouted from underneath the couch, holding it long enough for Liam to scramble away.

“We don’t! Try to stay alive till sunrise!”

The pack groaned but each of them took a fighting stance.

Yule Lads were mischievous little monsters that Stiles had always playfully thought himself similar too, though now facing them he didn’t really think that anymore. The Lads would try to trick and maim the pack until sunrise, but they were technically ghosts and ghosts had fallible defenses. Stiles would have to be clever but he thought he might have a great plan.

Opening the loft door would release the Yule Lads on innocent people so running to his house was out of the question. Stiles had to think quickly, especially since he was the only defenseless human, though Lydia couldn’t scream in this echo-y of a room surrounded by werewolves.

It shouldn’t have been funny, but Stiles found himself laughing at Derek’s stoic face as he stood like a shield in front of Lydia, letting things like a lamp and books were bouncing off him comically.

“Stop laughing at him.” Peter grunted out as he stood in front of Stiles hurling the flying objects in a different direction.

Stiles didn’t know how he’d missed Peter stepping in to protect him but it made his heart warm.

“Shit sorry. Yeah, back to planning.” Stiles winced as a particularly heavy skillet hit Peter.

He took one moment to let himself ogle Peter’s back as it flexed and rippled with his effort to protect Stiles.

“Okay Peter babe we are moving to the kitchen.”

“I thought pet names were my thing.”

“Shut up and watch my back.”

“Always.”

Stiles ducked around Peter and raced to the kitchen, he flung open the cabinets rapidly throwing things onto the ground. Finally he found the giant bag of flour that was always in the cabinet, “Peter! Rip this fucker open when I give the signal!”

“Wait! What’s the signal?!”

He didn’t wait to watch Peter heft the bag of flour despite the idea sounding incredibly enticing, and ran to the center of the room.

“Away in a manger” The second the first note was out of his mouth all mischief stopped.

“No crib for His bed”

“The little Lord Jesus” suddenly things were surrounding Stiles on all sides.

“Lay down His sweet head” Stiles took a breath and looked at Peter before throwing the mountain ash he always had in his pocket high over his head and dropping to the ground.

Peter’s bag of flour worked perfectly as it rained down on all five bodies in the ash circle, Stiles took the momentary distraction and ducked out of the circle.

“Yule Lads hate christmas songs.” Stiles said through his laughter.

His laughter faded when no one else joined, and Stiles was forced to face his anxious pack mates, “What?”

“You could’ve been hurt.” Derek rumbled.

“Or maimed!” Malia chirped.

Peter grabbed his shoulders and spun him to look into Peter’s flashing eyes, his control lessened by his fear, “You could have died.”

“I’m sorry guys but they’re tricksters and we didn’t know how many of them there were so I could risk saying the plan out loud. I had to just do it and believe the ash would hold, and look! It’s holding those little buggers!”

Scott shook his head disappointed with Stiles’ casual view of almost dying.

“Peter should have some clothes that fit you.” Derek sighed, gesturing at Stiles’ flour covered outfit.

“Okay, just don’t rile them up. They might taunt you but ignore it.” Were Stiles’ parting words before he let Peter drag him up the stairs.

Once in Peter’s room, the older man rifling through his drawers for clothes that’d fit Stiles, Stiles finally took a breath and decided to take a chance.

“Hey Peter?”

“Darling?”

Stiles approached him from behind and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Peter.”

“What can I do for you Stiles?” This time Peter actually turned to look at him.

“The pack doesn’t love to hate you. They hate that I love you.” Before Peter could react Stiles kissed him with every ounce of love, passion, and desperation he’d kept inside himself over the past few months.

#steter #stetersecretsanta #kyla writes #kyla creates

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