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whoreish-behaviour · 1 year ago

Text

Revenant 15 (Final)

Recom!Miles Quaritch x Na'vi!Reader

Warnings >~< 4k of just pure smut i'm so sorry lool, unprotected sex, oral (F Receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation (alot), tail threatening?, fingering, gentle man handling?, scenting, praise, ALOT of clit simulation.

NOT PROOF READ

'There.'

Miles's eyes followed the direction in which your finger was pointed before quietly humming in agreement and then nudging through the connection to his Ikran for it to slowly descend to the deserted beach below.

Miles knew that he should be on his way back to basecamp, back to his lieutenant to rally up a new idea on how to finally get rid of Jake.

But he couldn't even try and force himself away - he had absolute no desire to.

He felt his fangs poke at his bottom lip as he grinned to himself - your grip tightening in anxiety of dropping closer to the ground on the forearm he had pressed to your stomach, securing your tightly to his chest.

He almost choked when he felt your tail brush his thigh in warning, the strength and control you had there always throwing him off slightly.

'I don't have to see to know your laughing at me Miles.' Your voice had a playful edge to it as you looked over your shoulder at him before jutting your chin away.

Brat.

'So what you tryna achieve with this thing?' He mused, accent thick as he reached with his free hand to grip your tail in a tight grip, thumb moving like muscle memory to gently brush against it.

He outright laughed at your silence and refusal to look at him , your ears twitching constantly before lowering in embarrassment.

He didn't let go, continuing his touch against the sensitive limb until the giant claws of his Ikran landed in the loose sand - its wings flapping powerfully and disturbing the surrounding area.

He got off first - large body moving with balance has he jumped down before he turned to you, fully prepared to cup your thighs and drag you to him.

However he was unpleasantly surprised to see you moving on your own, already landing in front of him - tail swaying gracefully behind you and your eyes looking up at him.

He raised his brow when you said nothing, smirking down at your sudden teasing and defiant attitude.

'Princess-'

He was cut off when you suddenly grasped his hand in both of yours, tugging him gently to follow you.

'Come.' You beamed, ears erect and accentuating your face.

He didn't respond, only watching you silently and taking in your beautiful face and mood before picking up his feet behind you - his spirit unable to do anything but lift with yours.

You could feel Miles's intense stare, your knees feeling weak in nervousness as he drank you in.

Shaking your head, you concentrated on following the deserted path - your memory sparking from when you was younger, before your clan had moved to join another and left this place to be tended to by Eywa.

It felt special to have Miles be here, despite his eyes being more on you than the scenery.

'We are here.' You spoke softly, glancing back at his large yellow eyes before moving to stand beside him instead of in front.

'Hm..and what is 'here'?' He asked, hand gesturing out at the various sized pools scattered pool - before you suddenly felt his large and cup your waist and pull you towards him.

'This- this is where my people, especially mated couples would come to relax.' You felt your face burn slightly, eyes averted as you explained quietly.

'So ..it's a fuck spot?'

'Miles!' You hissed, lifting a hand to cover your face as your ears and cheeks warmed in embarrassment - his laugh making you wanted to punch him.

'Come on Princess, if you wanted us to 'relax' together, you could've just asked.' You felt him lean down towards your neck, nudging your jaw up and nipping at you neck.

'I'm not talking to you.' You tried to deadpan, pretending as if his touch didn't make you want to explode with want.

Taking a breathe, you gently pulled away - the sway of your hips graceful as you approached one of the shallower pools.

Miles couldn't let up on his stare as he watched your nimble fingers reach up behind your neck - undoing your decorative top and then reaching lower, past the curves of your waist and stopping at you hips.

He kept his footsteps as silent as he walked up behind you, committing what he could see of your bare body to mind.

Before he was able to even lift a hand to touch you, you slipped away - stepping down and into the cool water of the pool below.

Standing, the water level came to your hips - your body shivering as the ripples lapped at your skin softly.

Turning around, you exposed yourself to Miles - eyes innocent as they looked up at him, wanting and so desparate.

No words were exchanged or needed as Miles followed you, oversized hands coming reaching up to slowly rid his uniform, his azure skin reflecting in the pool.

You felt your cheeks warm as you watched him undress, his body still new and yet to be explored.

Stepping back, you opted to lean against the opposite side of the pool - allowing him room to step down to join you in the water - your eyes still connected.

'Come're baby.' He called you gently.

Closing the distance, you pressed your chest up against his - his bulging arms caging around you as he leaned down and caught your lips.

Your eyes fluttered shut at his touch, noses brushes as he hungrily drank you in.

You then felt his hands slowly explore your dips and curves, closing in around your rib cage before moving suddenly moving up and cupping your breast in a possessive grip.

You gasped slightly at the shameless grope, lips separating from his and eyes shooting open to catch his.

You scanned his cheeky expression, his ears pointed up before he dipped his face to your neck.

'You like when I touch you here Princess?' He teased, your erect and sensitive nipple suddenly being pinched playfully.

You whined when his fangs grazed your collarbone at the same time, hand coming up to press against the back of his head as you squeezed your eyes shut.

'Please-' You begged.

'What's got you all sensitive hm?' He nudged, the hand that was holding your waist moving down to cup your ass - hand so big that you felt the tips of his finger brush against you cunt from behind.

You whimpered at the sudden stimulation everywhere: his mouth sucking bites across you neck, his fingers effortlessly tugging your nipple until it was almost painful how hard it felt and his hand that was using the grip on your ass to rock your hips into his.

'You dragged me here just so I could finally play with your pretty pussy again, huh Princess?' He chuckled, moving his head up to catch the love of your ear between his blunt front teeth - careful of his pointed ones.

You flushed at the accusation, lips pressing in at being called out.

You felt his breath as he laughed at you, his cheek pressing against yours as he breathed in your scent.

'I came here to- please, talk to you.' You finally managed as he used your body, his strength rocking the water as he moved you against him.

'About what?' He turned his head so your flat noses brushed, both twitching at the touch.

'I cant..do this - with you yet.' You looked away as the words left your lips, his eyes staring into yours and serious expression too much.

'My kind, we can't just mate with whoever - it, it has to be with a chosen mate.' You trailed off, hoping he understood what you were trying to say.

What you were admitting to.

After a beat and at the lack of response, you directed your eyes back onto his - that were still staring and if anything.. his gaze seemed more intense than before.

'Turn around.'

You tilted your head at his request but obeyed nevertheless, preparing yourself for some sort of rejection - heart growing more heavy in your chest by the second.

Your confusion grew when you felt both his hands grip your hips before you were suddenly spun around, hands reaching out to catch yourself.

You were now facing out, the edge of the pool pressing just above your mound as Miles moulded himself to your back.

'Bend over Princess.'

You eyes widened as you attempted to look back at him, tail moving in the water so it brushed his thigh but you weren't able to see his face since he had it up against the back of your neck, nosing at your skin.

'Bend. Over..and I'll fuck you so hard you won't even have to think about choosing me.'

You swallowed at his words, resting your hands on the smooth rocks surrounding the pool for support as you bent yourself over - back naturally arching as your tail swayed.

'You're body's already decided for you pretty girl, you're mine.' You shivered when he pressed down on your arched back, lifting your hips even higher as he leaned over you.

'Miles.. please touch me.' You begged when you felt his planting kissing down your spine, slow and fierce until he got to the base of your tail.

You tucked your bottom lip in to suppress a whine when he placed a kiss there before his hand came up to move it out the way, revealing your most intimate parts.

'Look at you, fucking shaking for me already.' He groaned as he brought his other hand up to firmly grope your thigh under the water, using his strength to separate your legs more.

From your position, only your legs were in the water - the rest completely on show and his for the taking.

You whined when you felt his breath graze over your pussy from behind, hips bucking back and your arch deepening.

'I can see you clenching baby, you need me that bad huh? Need to get you nice and ready for me.' You nodded rapidly, attempting to look over your shoulder as his bend form.

'Please, please Miles-

You cut yourself off when his tongue finally licked at you, the warm and textured muscle separating your lips and cleaning up the leaking slick.

He groaned against you and repeated it over and over and over again, growing more hungry by the second before he finally released your tail and used his free fingers to hold you open.

'Miles!' You whimpered when he focused on your now exposed clit, the nerve pulsing with need as he covered it in his saliva.

'Your little clit too sensitive baby?' He teased, his mouth never far before he was back - gathering the slick collecting at your core on his tongue and then dragging it back to swirl over your clit with it.

You flinched when his lips wrapped around it, softly suckling until your cried out - rocking your hips back into his face.

He allowed you to, moving his head in time with your grinding so he was always latched on - forcing you closer and closer to your high.

When you felt your stomach drop, body shuddering with your oncoming orgasm - you didn't even notice your tail moving, pressing against his cheek until he was forced away.

'Princess..' The warning in his voice was clear, your pussy now covered.

You lowered your ears and sheepishly looked back at him, his large yellow eyes sat on yours in dominate.

'I'm giving you one chance..' He ran his nose over your asscheek, eyes unmoving.

'Move your tail - or I will.' He then nipped at you, your body jumping when you obeyed, tail moving to the side to grant him access once again.

'Such a good girl, acting up when I haven't even made you come yet.'

As soon as the words left him, he was back on you - this time even more aggressive and unforgiving than before - his blunt teeth tracing over your clit and his hand back to spreading you open.

You rested your head against your forearm, moaning out when he leaned up and traced your hole with his tongue before plunging deep - collecting your arousal like water and swallowing it down.

'So wet, just keep giving and giving huh Princess?' You whimpered back at him, his name leaving your lips in broken cries as your high suddenly hit.

You hips continuously rocked back and twitched, legs feeling weak as Miles continued to lick at you, both his hands moving to the back of your thighs before he spread them as far as possible - finger tips digging in to keep you in place.

'Keep going, come on - come for me.' You cried out, nails almost breaking as you clawed at the rocks in front of you - giving him what he wanted before you collapsed boneless.

You flinched and whined when he continued you lap over you, collecting what was left of your come that had dripped down to your clit - the bud pulsing and too sensitive.

He didn't seem to care though as he cleaned up after himself, breathes fanning over you as he eagerly inhaled your scent before groaning.

'Always smell so fucking good.'

Miles nosed his way around the plumpness of your cheek, staring down at your body from your bend position - cock twitching with the need to just plow into you and fully claim you as his.

Not that you didn't know already.

'You ready for me to stretch you Princess? You’re too tight for me to fuck you.' Miles smirked when you didn't object- allowing your body to show him by spreading your legs wider, tail moving even further to the side.

'Words baby.'

'Please Miles, need your fingers.' You voice was hoarse from moaning and crying out - ears erect as you looked back at him.

Miles didn’t hesitate to run his thumb over your slit, separating you open before applying pressure at your core and then back up.

He continued to tease you until he replaced his thumb with his middle finger, coating the appendage before he finally eased it inside you.

‘Ohe kawkrr ngenga.’ You whined, moving your tail to wrap it around Miles’s forearm as you familiarised yourself with having him inside you again.

I need you.

'I can hear you pretty girl, I know - open up for me.' Miles hummed lowly, leaning over you to nip as your shoulder as he gently moved his finger inside, then back out - repeating as he felt your body give way for him.

'Doing so good hm?' He eased his bites to gently sucks, marking your body and drowning you in his scent.

You cried when you felt a second finger wedge its way alongside the one already inside you, the girth pushing you closer and closer until the pit in your stomach seemed to turn into a sinkhole, body quaking.

'Almost there princess, so fucking tight - so perfect.' Reaching a hand over your shoulder, your fingers came in contact with his crisp cut jaw - pawing softly at him to help ground you as your high grew more a more overwhelming.

You choked you were spread open even more, another finger being added to the mess between your thighs - the embarrassing slick slick noise sounding louder.

'Good girl, come on - come all over my fingers.'

'Squeezing so tight, you gonna do that on my cock princess?'

'Thats it, fuck yourself on them.'

You whimpered at the non stop thrusting and attention - stuttering when the hand that had been keeping you spread for him looped around your waist and trailed down your stomach from behind - hand smoothing over your mound until your clit was taken in between two fingers.

'Still think your clits too sensitive?' His teasing, as gentle as it was, was what threw you over - your high raining down on you as your clit was pitched and the fingers inside pressed down, curving to hit that one spot.

'Miles! Please, pleas- its-' Your begging was non stop as you convulsed, hips grinding - trying to escape from the stimulation but if you moved back his fingers only slid deeper and then when you moved forward the pressure on your clit increased.

You where trapped, forced to ride your high out until you went limp against the rocks again - breathes panting out irregularly.

You loved it.

'So good for me, such a good girl.' You felt your mind ease even further at the rain of praise, hissing when he retracted out of you and slipped his hand off your clit to rest his palm against your mound.

'You okay?' He asked, nosing near you ear before pressing a kiss to it.

In your state, the question went completely over your head - mind still in the clouds. ]

And clearly you took way too long to register that the words had even left his lips before two hands where gripping your waist and gently lifting you from your bend position, flipping you over and lifting you back onto the edge of the pool.

You were startled by the sudden appearance of Miles in all his glory, wide shoulders leaning down as he cupped your face, tilting your chin up as he looked over you.

'Still here princess, still with me?' He repeated, lifting his thumb to your lips and running the pad of it over as if to coax you into responding back.

You gazed over his features warming before you smiled back and nodded, movement slow and unrushed.

He mimicked your smile with his own as a gentle 'yes' left your lips.

Using his hold on your face, he tipped your chin down to press a kiss to your forehead, repeating the gesture over and over again - migrating slowly down your face until he got to your lips.

You purred at his attentiveness, nuzzling closer to your mate until his lips descended onto yours.

You allowed yourself to get lost in his caring touch, hands coming up to rest against his chest as he continued to kiss you, the soft rumble of his own purr matching yours.

You were pulled out your trance when his stiff cock grazed your inner thigh, your cunt clenching in response quicker than you had even registered the touch,

Pulling back, your kept your hands at his chest to keep him back - looking up through your lashes.

You didn't say anything and neither did he as you slowly trailed your hand down, finger tips featherlight against his skin until you reached your goal.

You confidence dipped slightly when you took him in your hand, attempting to swallow down your nerves as you familiarised yourself with his size again.

From the growing smirk on his face, you could tell Miles could smell your nervousness a mile away - ears twitching before he dipped down to your neck.

'Still want me princess?' He spoke against your skin.

Your throat bobbed as your pressed your cheek against his head.

'Want you Miles, need you to..' You didn't finish, cheeks burning as your lightly tightened your grip around him.

His shudder shook you to your core, thighs twitching with the need to wrap around him.

'I know, can smell you from here.' You were grateful his teasing had passed, taking your hand off him and instead laying it against his side - pulling him closer between your legs.

You felt electric as he hands came up to your thighs, bringing each to either side of his slim waist and angling your hips up.

You gasped as his tip caught against your clit, stomach rippling as your core clenched down again.

'Relax.' Was all he said as he suddenly bit down on your neck, anchoring you to your place as he reached down and took himself in his hand - running the tip through your folds to open you back up.

You whined when he finally drew lower, hips cantering as he sunk into you - nails digging into his side when he didn't stop, stretching you open a lot more than you anticipated.

'M..Miles!' You bellowed, the mix of pleasure and pain perfect.

He groaned into you neck, teeth still lodged into you as he held you still - pushing himself further and further inside you until his hips were flush to yours.

'I can't, its too-'

'You can take it princess, settle down.' You didn't even feel him remove his fangs, face suddenly in front of yours as he swooped down and covered your mouth with his.

You whimpered when he drew back, hand on his chest coming up to claw as his neck.

Despite your sounds, he didn't stop - pace slow as your body finally accepted the intrusion, the feeling simmering down until you were knocked breathless.

'So fucking tight, sucking me in.' He released your lips, forehead pressed to yours as your noses brushed.

You thighs rippled from his thrusts, body moving back and forth as he sped up. ]

Throwing your head back, you moaned out - your clit sending shocks through you as his pelvis brushed against it again and again.

'Look at you taking me like such a good girl huh? You feel so good.' Miles looked down at where the two of you were connected, thighs bracketing his waist softening the blow of his hips against yours.

Once he felt you open up further for him, pussy finally allowing him some edge way - he sped up his pace, the loud slick sound of where you continuously met emitting in the air.

'Doing so well for me princess.' Unable to take your eyes not being on him, he removed the hand that was on your thigh - moving it behind your head to grip your kuru.

Your gasp made his ears perk up as he turned your attention back to him, your eyes completely fucked out as they landed back on him.

'Your mine - you watch me fuck this pussy until she finally gets it, understand?' He voice was scolding but his eyes were soft, the grip on your kuru tight but not painful.

Dominating in the exact way you needed it.

'Yes, yes..' You moaned back, hand moving to hold into his forearm - not clawing at him to let go but just a subtle way of telling him that you liked it.

Reading your body language, Miles smirked at you - other hand going to your waist to make you meet his thrusts, keeping your hips up so he was able to freely rock into you.

You furrowed your brows when you felt his hips changing angles, thrusting into you harder and harder until you felt it.

His tip suddenly brushed against that one part, the same area he had teased with his fingers earlier - except this time it was more powerful, more hungry.

You choked, eyes widening at the sudden pressure inside you - stomach twisting as if he was too deep inside you.

'Miles, Miles wait-'

'Fuck, found it.' He spoke to himself, fangs flashing as he grinned at you.

You weren't able to question him before he fucked into you harder, hand releasing your hair in favour of wrapping around your waist, dragging you closer to the edge and to him.

You suddenly found yourself laid once against across the rocks, belly up and your hips in the hands of Miles.

You could see and sense the shift in him, body moving faster between your legs as he fucked waves and wave of pleasure into you.

'Miles, please! I feel- it's too much please!' You words were muddled with a mix of English and Navi.

'Come on, come for me pretty girl - can feel you clenching down on me.' Miles' voice was firm and left no room for arguing, hips pistoling in and out to cement his words.

You could hear the water of the pool sloshing around, disturbed from Miles' nonstop humping as he threw you head first into your orgasm.

You cried out as you came, hips stuttering against his when he refused to stop - fucking you through your orgasm until your thighs were twitching in his hold.

And even then, he didn't stop - calling down to you to 'Keep going' and 'Look at you princess, so beautiful when you come.'

Your head felt heavy as you whimpered, overstimulation sending waves of exhaustion through your body as Miles continued to grind into you, hips slowing until finally he paused.

Miles watched as you lifted your arm and the rested it against you eyes - panting out like a cat in heat.

He suppressed a groan when he felt you continuously clench down on him, wall hugging tight as you came down from your high.

Moving so he was hovering over you, he kissed from your shuddering stomach to your sternum - feeling his tail sway in the water behind him in pride at having you so fucked out this early.

He rained praise down on your skin, watching as your chest began to slow down - breathes leaving your lips less irregularly and harsh.

His ears perked up when his eyes zeroed in on your exposed breasts, mouth grinding with the want to mark and bite into the soft flesh, knowing his claim would flash anyone if you so much as moved too much.

He didn't even notice the slight grind of his hips until you flung your arm away and gaped down at him, ears alert while his rested against his head.

You felt as if your whole body was on fire, lit from the inside as Miles stared down at you - his stare similar to a predator stalking its prey.

'Your doing so good, behaving so fucking well.' His soft words didn't match his hungry gaze, his hands moving to tighten their grip on your thighs.

'But we're not finished here princess.' You swallowed at the dip in his tone, staring into his eyes before you dipped your head and nodded, giving him the green light that he was free to use your body.

He was your mate, you wanted him to know that he owned every bit of you.

You saw the pride cloud over in his yellow eyes, face moving down to rain a few last kisses - stare still trained on you as he took the skin between his teeth.

You hissed as he sucked his mark on you, hands reaching to clutch at him.

You didn't notice the hand migrating from your thigh until it slipped under the arch in your back, palm flat to you as it pulled you towards him once more.

He didn't stop until you were sitting up again, flush to his chest as the hand on your back moved down to your thigh, grip so tight the pudge of your thigh spilled through his spread fingers.

You prepared yourself for his thrust, cunt spamming around him in want but you were surprised when it never came.

Instead you felt yourself being lifted higher, off the edge of the pool until you were being entirely supported by the hands on your thighs, gasping when you felt Miles shift around inside you, slipping even deeper.

You looked down at your stomach, mouth agape and half expecting there to be a bump from his intrusion.

'Too deep for you baby?'

You snapped your gazed back to Miles at his teasing tone, your hands holding tightly onto his broad shoulders before you dropped your head to his collar bone - panting out at the feeling of being over whelmed again so soon.

'Please move.' You spoke against his skin, your curiosity of how it would feel to have him buck into you at this position clouding your brain.

The words barely had a chance to leave your lips and sit in the air before he was moving again, the hands supporting you lifting you up and then dropping you back down.

'Mi-.. Miles!' You cried his name over and over again as he bounced you on his cock, your weight nothing in his hands as he used you.

You clawed at his back and the nape of his neck, nuzzling under his jaw as he fucked up, his chest rumbling below you with groans of his own.

'Pussy's so fucking good, should've fucked you back on that ship - let you moan your little heart out until everyone knew you fucking were mine.'

You whined at the imagery, nodded into his throat.

'Your never getting my scent off you princess, fucking drowning it in.' As if to support his words, you felt him lean down to nip at your neck - flat nose twitching against the raw and sensitive skin.

Triggered by his own words, he bounced you on him harder - his hips moving up at a faster pace - crude and obnoxiously loud slapping filling the air.

'Miles please, I need-' You tried, digging your claws harder into his skin until your felt it give way, body not even register that you had pierced skin.

Miles, from the sounds of it, didn't seem to mind - his groans only sounding louder as he rocked you up and down.

'You need to come agin baby? Gonna cover me again?' He bit down, repaying the favour sinking into your skin once the words left his lips.

'Yes, just- please!' You cried.

'Touch your little clit for me baby, come on-' He commanded once he had released your poor skin.

Obeying silently, your hand shook as you pulled it from around his back and down your brushing stomachs - crying out when your finger came in contact with the bud.

You pressed yourself harder into Miles' neck when you high rapidly built once again, fingers stuttering once again once it grew too much.

'Don't you dare fucking stop, keeping going.'

Using his forceful encouragement, you couldn't stop yourself from sinking your teeth into his neck as your high hit - hand automatically pulling away as soon as the sensitivity took over the pleasure.

However you weren't expecting Miles to suddenly move one arm under your ass, continuing to bounce your clenching cunt on him while his now free hand slid between you both and took over your abandoned job.

You practically screamed when he circled your overly sensitive clit, thumb forceful and not as forgiving as your hand.

'Miles! Mil- fuck! Please, its- pleaseplease' The unfamiliar word dropped from your mouth like nothing, brain not even picking up what you had said as you fell face first into another orgasm.

'Keeping coming for me princess, such a good fucking girl!' He panted into your neck - his hips stuttering against yours for the first time.

'Come on, come for me and I'll fill that pretty pussy.' He ordered, the arm supporting you slowing your bouncing until you were gently grinding against each other - hips jutting as your high too over.

Your retracted your fangs from Miles’ neck at the feeling of him coming inside you, pressure building in your stomach as he pumped load after load into you, the warmth seeping out around where he was still inside you and dripping into the pool.

The hand on your clit stopped, opting to instead just rest against it as it thrummed against the pads of his fingers.

He didn’t stop moving you until you both shuddered with overstimulation, his cock twitching inside you as it spluttered what last of what he had to give.

Dropping against him, your heart hammered against your chest - nipples hard as they brushed against his chest.

‘Breathe baby, thats it princess.' You felt him planting kisses along your neck and the side of your face, panting against you as he himself came down from his high.

'It's okay, your safe.' He repeated, kissing over you ear .

You whined when you felt him remove his hand from your delicate clit, moving back to your thigh as he cupped both again like before - pressing you further into him and hugging you close.

Once you had caught your breath, you repeated his treatment - nosing over his skin and layering kisses over the bruised areas.

You purred when you smelled that his scent was muddled with yours, the mix delicious as you breathed it in .

'Smell yourself?' You felt Miles chuckle against you, jolting against him slightly when you suddenly felt his tail creep up and around your thigh.

You shivered as it coiled around you, the tuff of hair at the end wet from the pool you were still in as it raised goosebumps along your skin.

'Smells like us.' You murmured, breathing out as you felt your eyelids droop - waves of exhaustion finally catching up to you.

Miles felt you slowly going limp again, smile of pride etching onto his face as he carefully lifted you, hisses leaving both of you as he slipped out of you.

He hushed you quietly when your stirred, thighs twitching around him.

He turned with you in his arms and walked back to the entrance of the pool, the water rippling as he stepped out.

The soft gusts of wind helped to cool his risen body temperature as the droplets along his skin cooled and dripped off.

He held you tight, placing occasionally kisses whenever he felt like his lips had spend too long away from your skin.

He carried you until he got to the open beach, eyes scanning the open plain to deem the area safe enough for you both to rest before keeling on the sand.

There was still water coming in from the ocean, leaving about two inches of water over the almost white sand but Miles sat anyways, dragging your body with him until you were in his lap.

You had moaned the whole time he had shifted you, but didn't fight or complain.

Miles felt his ego flare at the fact that he really was able to do anything he wanted to you, your pliant body his for the taking - that you trusted him enough.

He was your mate.

The thought lingered as he huddled you closer, pulling until you were kneeled over him - thighs on either side of his hips, chest glued to his and your face under his jaw.

He had never felt so light, his mind coming up short when he searched for a moment in his past life where the feeling in his chest was the same.

It was peaceful.

You were his peace.

'Miles?'

He didn't hesitate to look down at you, brows already furrowing at the meekness in your voice.

'What's wrong?' His eyes darted along your face before moving to your neck, searching for anything that could've been causing you pain.

You shook your head before you looked up at him, eyes connecting as you watched him.

'What do we do now?' You tone was unsure, lips pouted in worry.

Miles couldn't stop himself from leaning down and capturing your plump lips in his, kissing away the growing anxiety as he cupped your jaw - tilting you head up for better access.

'You’re okay princess, I'll sort everything out.' His voice was low to not startle you once he pulled away, pecking your twitching nose as you continued to stare at him.

You didn't respond for a beat, searching his eyes before nodding silently - ears bowing in submission to your mate.

'I trust you.'

AHHH DON'T WORRY, THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE (and a time jump) it just felt like too much to include it in 15. If i didn't include your idea, it'll be in the epilogue- they're first time had to be somewhat soft lmao

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strong-with-the-sarcasm · 1 year ago

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Revenant!Jazz ideas:

Continuing from this DPxDC prompt of mine, I’ve had some more thoughts about Jasmine Fenton and Revenants, especially where it concerns DC lore and Jason Todd in particular.

———————-

In my original post, @starlightcat04 asked whether or not Jazz’s eyes would glow toxic green too. I propose that, no, they wouldn’t.

While it’s a common head canon that Ectoplasm is heavily influenced by emotions, Jazz’s Ecto-contamination is bone deep and pure, unlike Jason’s. So no, I don’t believe her eyes would glow green.

They turn from the teal she had in life to a smoldering green that reflects light just like a feline, with a heavily damaged sclera that is perceived as black in low lighting, with ash grey veins spreading from her eye sockets down to her jaw like tears.

Her once bright hair turns from a lively orange-ish red to the color of cooling embers.

That which caused her death, a punctured artery is half-way healed by the time Jazz reanimates in the crematorium, so not only is she supposed to be dead still, she also has to be very careful with her movements otherwise she could very well bleed out again before she is fully healed.

What else changes with Revenant!Jazz?

In exchange for a higher mental processing and the high damage absorption of Revenants, Jazz loses most (almost all) of her memories of her life. What she does remember is thankfully not her death, but rather Danny’s, his death scream and ghostly wail overlap in her mind, at times causing severe headaches and nausea.

(According to his wiki page, Jason spent a year in a coma and as an amnesiac vagrant, therefore it’s not entirely without precedent that Jazz wouldn’t keep hers.)

Her Ecto-contamination has to factor in a lot though.

Jason was revived by Superboy-Prime’s Reality Shattering Punch. Jazz was reanimated by her own willpower, aided by Ecto to allow her body to heal and regress the stages of rigor mortis.

———//:///////———-

What does Jazz need to accomplish as a Revenant?

In the original prompt I wrote that Jazz returned to keep Danny safe- broad enough for a prompt, but what exactly does “safe” for a halfa entail?

Let’s list the major threats to Danny’s health, beginning with the obvious: the Ghost Investigation Ward and The Fenton Parents.

The Fentons are capable of tracking Phantom by his Ecto-signature, creating and having created weaponry specifically designed to target the ghost in question, to which they pass that tech on to the GIW.

If Danny remains in Gotham, the ambient Ecto will scramble the tech over enough of a distance, but if Danny were in a line up of three people right next to a GIW agent he’d be clocked almost immediately.

So, the Fentons and the GIW have to go. How does this happen?

The greatest irony I could possibly inflict on these anti-ghosters- becoming ghosts themselves. I won’t go into detail about what my brain jumped to when I thought about that outcome, but let’s just say it was pretty dark.

(And karmically well-deserved.)

#3 on the list depends on where Danny is when Jazz is finished with numbers 1 & 2 on her list.

If Danny is is Gotham and staying there for the long haul, then I believe this girl would take one look at Batman’s rogue gallery and nope them so hard everyone in Gotham gets the sense of their world about to be rocked, but the ones she gunning for the most?

(Joker, Bane, Manbat, Firefly, Madhatter, Riddler…)

They get the sensation that someone just walked over their non-existent graves.

(I got a little gleeful demented imagining Jazz just straight up ripping Manbat’s wings clean off, burning Firefly alive and throwing a detoxed Bane into a crowd of vengeful Gothamites.)

(Jazz learns that Joker killed a young hero with a crowbar and a bomb. She’s fully onboard with turnabout being fair play when it comes to that Pennywise reject.)

(I can’t even begin to list every rogue Jazz cuts down, it she doesn’t kill all of them, just most of their number.)

(Gotham celebrates for weeks.)

(I’m not sure whether or not Jazz kills the four mentioned previously in a couple of nights, one night or over a a few months, but it doesn’t take as long as one might think.)

/://:///////:::/::::///////

What’s next for Revenant!Jazz?

I’m still writing The Regent series, so I doubt I’ll come back to this for a while, but I’ll still be posting ideas and whatnot about Revenant!Jazz. There’s still plenty to explore here, and I have a pretty angst/bittersweet ending for Jazz in mind I want to talk about later.

If you have any ideas to add, please feel free to comment! If anyone does write this, please let me know so I can read it!

#dp x dc #dp x dc au #dpxdc #dc x dp crossover #jazz fenton #dp x dc prompt #Revenant!Jazz #talking about Jason’s death like it wasn’t by fan request #did they choose his coffin by fan request too?#ramblings #ramblings of an insomniac Danny Phantom Phan #Apparently I have more marvel comics lore in my head than I do DC #I REALLY NEED TO STOP READING WIKIS #it’s a micro aggression against my need to sleep

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reds-skull · 11 months ago

Text

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Writing Reapers is always a lot of fun, they're old little eldritch horror. This chapter was fun to write in general!

Ghost frowns. The being in front of him is not his Reaper, not the thing that brought him back to life all these years ago.

This Reaper, a creature of light and fire, gazes down at him with six familiar, yet different eyes. A crown of moths adorns it, little wings fluttering every so often and shedding sparks upon luminescent skin.

The realm is bright with flickering fire, Ghost almost feeling like he’s floating.

“YOU LET THE LIGHT BE TAKEN FROM YOU”

“You let John Mactavish be ripped away…”

Two voices overlap, one of Ghost’s Reaper, the other, a softer, almost singing whisper.

Ghost breathes out weakly, “it wasn’t my own choice.” his words struggle to sound, “What happened to you, Reaper?”

“WASN’T YOUR CHOICE? WE DON’T ASK FOR PERMISSION, WE ARE THE RULERS OF THE VOID-”

“John MacTavish chose a path, the wrong path… the wrong path…”

“SILENCE, CREATURE OF HAVOC. MUST YOU SPEAK OVER ME?”

The singing voice lets out a trill of noises, something that could be called a laugh.

“No… how could I talk over myself? We are one and the same now… A single, not a multitude.”

This new voice… it talks like it knows Johnny… “Are you Soap’s Reaper?”

“IT IS. I am. A THING OF light and COMPLETE ANNIHILATION.”

A primal dread sinks within Ghost’s chest. Soap’s Reaper is a presence he isn’t acquainted with, a sort of burning down his lungs, the way Johnny’s hands bring doubled over hundreds of times.

His mind has trouble recognizing what it should focus on, moths clouding his vision.

Dancing flames, reflected in blue skies. Light in Limbo.

Ghost shakes his head, moths flying away, “do you know where Johnny is, Reaper of Destruction?”

“I do-”

“DO NOT DARE TO FOLLOW THIS CREATURE’S PATH, SIMON RILEY. YOU ARE MINE-”

“He’s yours as much as mine” the lilting voice goes through a series of clicks and whistles Ghost can’t understand, noises that make his ears bleed. He clutches his head as the Reaper continues. “Revenant, I will show you your other half, but you must promise… promise me…”

Ghost heaves large gulps of hot air, hands shaking over his ears. “Anything, R-Reaper.”

“Make sure to find the Revenant of Many and ERASE HIS PATHETIC ARMY OF DARKNESS.”

“G-Graves?”

“YES, SIMON RILEY.

LEAVE NOTHING OF HIS DISGUSTING BODY BEHIND.”

His mouth stretches into an almost maniacal grin, “consider it done, Reapers.” Ghost looks at his bloodied hands, and levels the merged being in front of him with a dangerous glare. “Show me where Johnny is.”

Moths rise from the ground, flying around him in a dizzying pace, the world covered by radiant insects.

“-imon?” someone says beyond the veil of wings.

His heart skips a beat, “Johnny? Where are you?!”

“Graves-” Soap’s words are swallowed by the sound of burning fire, “-I can’t… move…”

The pained tone stabs at Simon’s gut, “I’ll find you, Johnny. I promise, just tell me where you are.”

“...A river… not in the states… alone…”

“A city, love, coordinates, anything, please...”

“It’s so cold… I miss you…”

A silent sob tears through him, “please, tell me where…”

“I’m tired-” a crackling sound echos in the Reaper realm, cutting their connection. Simon uselessly grasps at the passing moths, a knife twisting further and further in him.

“Please! Bring him back!!!” he screams at the Reapers.

“BRING HIM BACK bring him back SIMON RILEY Revenant of the Void.”

Simon yells, “TELL ME WHERE IS HE-”

Ghost lands back on earth, trembling and hyperventilating. He sinks to the ground, clutching the dry dirt, trying to stop his head from spinning.

“Simon?” Price asks, he can’t tell from where.

“Don’t- don’t look. Not right now.” Ghost begs his Captain.

“...What happened to your ears?” Price feels the pain pulsing through his head.

Ghost inhales sharply, and pushes off the ground, wobbling for a moment as his senses reorient, “Reaper spoke in their own language, you know what that shite does to a person.” he grunts.

Price sighs, “get back to the safe house, let a Vaquero check ‘em. Can’t have you run around with a raptured eardrum.”

Ghost scoffs, but starts making his way back, “ran around with a whole lot worse, Captain.”

“That’s why you should fuckin’ stop that, you muppet.”

He sees the back door open, the silhouette of his Captain blocking the light, and rolls his eyes “yes sir.”

Ghost throws another map off the table, crossing another river off the list. Why are there so fuckin’ many in Mexico alone?!

He tugs at his mask, adjusting the gauze a medic has forced on his ears, and groans. Somehow, Johnny’s clues haven’t gotten him any closer to figuring out where that wanker Graves took him.

What if he isn’t even in Mexico anymore? He could be near a river in bloody Canada as far as he knows.

Hopelessness is a taste he knows well, and yet it doesn’t make him want to puke any less.

Ghost needs to somehow reduce the options. Currently, all he has to go off is “river”, “not in the states”, and possibly cold. Ghost frowns and scrubs a hand under the mask. Johnny sounded… off. He could’ve been drugged, just like Farah and Alex were for transport.

So in reality, he has nothing to go of off.

Someone knocks on the door, a quick rapping Ghost recognizes.

“What is it, Garrick?”

Gaz opens the door, mindful of the papers littering the floor, stepping around them and analyzing their contents.

He raises an eyebrow at Ghost. “Captain wanted to know if your ears are alright, sir.”

“I’m fine-”

“He also wanted to know why you ‘borrowed’ all the geographical maps of Mexico and holed up here.” the Sergeant crosses his arms.

Ghost almost tells Gaz to pass over to Price to ‘shove it’, but thinks better of angering the damn telepath.

They sit in silence for a moment, Gaz clearly trying to hold back his own curiosity. Ghost has to remember that they want to save Johnny as much as he does, and they too are desperate.

If Ghost thought someone here was keeping information from him, they would gain a few new bruises until they spilled it out.

“This stays between us, Garrick.”

Gaz tilts his head, “even Price?”

No. They won’t be able to keep it away from him, especially Gaz.

But maybe that’s what he needs? Two more minds to work over this mystery…

“Get the Captain here.”

“Copy.” Garrick swings the door open, pulling someone inside.

Ghost glares unamused at his Captain, “seriously?”

The man straightens his hat, huffing, “kill a man for being worried, Simon. Now, out with it.”

Ghost grabs a map of the floor, spreading it on the table.

“Reapers gave me some clues…”

The operators share a look, “Reapers?”

Shite. “Unimportant. They were vague, but maybe you know…”

Several hours later, the three soldiers were exhausted. They tracked every small stream, every possible town near it, abandoned bases and safe houses, but…

There are too many options. The clock’s ticking, each click counts down their likelihood of finding Johnny, each another mile Graves could drag him away from them.

None of them will give up, not on one of their own. But they’re reaching their limits, Ghost being awake for 3 days now.

Price eventually forces him on a cot, assigning Garrick to watch over him like a fuckin’ preschool teacher, and ordering him to sleep.

Ghost refuses as much as he can, but he’s still somewhat human, after all. And with a teammate watching his six, sleep sinks its claws into him and drags Ghost under.

His neck was feckin’ killing him. How long has it been since Graves last shot him?

It’s been taking longer and longer to heal each time. Simon’s words hover at the edges of his mind… how it feels useless.

Soap still can’t move, limbs sprawled in front of him unresponsive, full of pins and needles as his spinal cord stitches itself back together.

The room is damp, a leak in the corner wetting his soiled pants, making him shiver whenever he regains sensation in his body.

He’s been trying to repress it. Soap knows when he starts moving, another Shadow comes in to shoot him again. It hurts only for a moment.

It feels like an endless nightmare.

What pains Soap the most is the knowledge he could win, if he could only move, if he could only. Get. Up.

He blinks away more tears. The light has been blinding him for a while now, rays from a small window above him. Soap squints away again, unable to turn his neck even an inch.

Graves keeps moving them. They’ve been here for a while, but Soap doesn’t keep his hopes up that anyone will find him soon. The Shadow Company hid its tracks too well.

The only thing keeping him from losing hope completely is the dream he had. Dream, vision, steamin’ hallucination, he doesn’t bother trying to pinpoint.

All Soap cares about is that one beautiful moment, where he swore he could hear Simon’s voice, begging him.

He could never lose hope, when Simon is out there, looking for him. A small smile spreads on Soap’s lips.

How he wishes he could indulge in memories for a while, in Simon’s strong arms closing around him, shielding him from the rest of the world. In brown eyes that make him want to drop to his knees, holding so much love within them, Soap wants to weep. In a hand in his, skin that refuses to be burnt, flesh marked to be intertwined with his until their final breath.

He wishes, but he can’t. Because being with Simon never felt as painful as this current reality.

Soap manages to move his neck, his heart thumping faster. A little victory.

His brows furrow when he notices something mounted on the corner… a security camera?

The light is flashing… Soap’s eyes widen.

He hears footsteps nearing the door, his eyes swiveling back and forth, mind reeling, racking to find a way to somehow transmit a message.

A recording is something tangible. And Soap prays the Reapers that Laswell is still on their side, because the woman could find a needle in an endless ocean, if it were important intel.

Soap turns as much as he can to face the camera, slowly mouthing his message.

He gets faster when the steps get louder.

The Shadow slams the door open, and Soap clicks his jaw closed.

The soldier takes his sidearm out.

Soap closes his eyes, trying to imagine dark brown eyes, blond locks, scarred lips curved into a smile.

The image is erased when a gunshot splices through the air.

“Ghost?” someone is gently repeating.

Ghost instantly shoots up the bed, whipping out a hidden knife. Garrick’s placating hands makes him lower his guard.

“What’is it?” he growls, blinking away the remnants of his sleep.

The Sergeant nods to the door, “Laswell found something. Thought you wanted to see as well.”

His mind snaps into focus, “yes, cheers.”

The small room is packed, Vaqueros waiting outside to hear the news. Alejandro, Rudy and Price are already inside, Farah and Alex greeting them at the entrance.

“Simon, slept well?” Price asks in his mind.

“I’ll sleep better when we find him.”

Laswell cuts their conversation off, “Lieutenant, Sergeant. Good to see you.”

“What have you got for us, Laswell?” Ghost goes straight to the main topic.

The woman clicks a few buttons, and a grainy video footage pops on screen. Ghost’s fists clench when he recognizes Johnny in the corner of the small room, body limp and laying in a pool of blood.

“This recording was sent to a computer in Sweden 3 hours ago, encoded and encrypted.”

Price frowns, “must be Shepherd.”

Laswell nods, “I tried zooming in as much as possible, but I can’t see anything that would indicate where Graves is holding Sergeant MacTavish.”

Ghost wants to scream. How many times can his hopes be shattered?

Laswell continues talking, however. “What I did find is that the Sergeant was saying something to the camera. The recording is extremely pixelated, so I couldn’t understand his message, but maybe you can.”

Everyone in the room leans in to watch the video as Laswell hits play. Soap Spends a while staring off to the side, eyes narrow in the light.

His body starts twitching minutely, and he turns his head away from the window, relief painting his features. The Sergeant freezes when he locks eyes with the camera.

Ghost has never seen him more frantic.

Johnny’s lips starts moving, Ghost holding his breath, eyes unblinking as he watches them move.

He’s repeating the same words…

Rio… Rio Grande?

The words switch after a few moments, Johnny’s eyes moving to glance at the door before returning to the camera, his lips moving faster.

Joo… Da- Ciudad Juárez.

Johnny is in Ciudad Juárez, next to the Rio Grande. A river, outside the states, in a colder place…

Ghost rushes out of the room, startling everyone waiting outside for the news.

His heart beats a mile a second, tension coiling in his muscles.

Hope is a dangerous mistress to entrain, but Ghost is willing to lay with her.

As long as it brings Johnny back.

I was frantically looking up rivers on the American-Mexican border in colder climates. Rio Grande is quite chilly sometimes haha

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that-gay-guy-from-hell · 2 years ago

Text

Without You: Vergil x G/N Reader

Summary: You have been missing for some time now and Vergil is slowly losing it. The blue devil's constant fear and worry about you being dead has turned him into a shadow of hi former self; someone that is even capable of grinding on Dante's gears.

Another pretty story-heavy oneshot; six dividers (double equal signs) down for important parts if you want to skip the pre-text. ⏳⏳⏳ Once again, I reference the “Revenant Shotgun” as being your gun; I really think the gun is pretty lmao. You also use Beowulf. Minor blood/gut talk, nothing too serious though (figured I should mention it just in case). This is the first time I have tried to write combat since I was like 13, so forgive the (probably) less-than-adequate scene writing--I tried lol. ⏳⏳⏳ Pre-established relationship with Vergil. G/N reader. ⏳⏳⏳ Semi-angst followed by fluff (I don't know why I keep writing sad Vergil things; I swear I'll stop after this lmfao)

The air was stagnated and stale as Nero slowly sat up, groaning in pain. His head was pounding as he looked around, confused and disorientated. He slowly blinked as he got a grasp on his surroundings. With a huff, Nero mindlessly groped around his lower back for Blue Rose and found it missing. This snapped him to attention as he began to sporadically eye over the area around him.

His brow furrowed as he focused on Red Queen which was thrust into the ground nearly twenty feet away. Slowly standing up with a wince, he went over to the sword. As he yanked the stubbornly stuck blade from the ground, a glint of light caught his attention. Blue Rose was laying on the ground nearby.

Placing Red Queen on his back, he clicked his tongue and went to retrieve his sidearm. “What in the fuck happened?” Nero’s thoughts were a blur as he scrunched his face struggling to put together the broken pieces of his recent memories.

“Move it, asshole!” Nero insincerely barked as he held a growl from deep within his throat.

You ducked down into a roll, knowing that Nero was going to lose control soon and it was best not to argue with his demonic side. Using Beowulf to quickly spin upward and to your feet, you managed to make quick work of a Choas demon's spines. Seizing the opportunity, you aimed Revenant dead-center of the creature’s eyes and pulled the trigger. Smoothly holstering your shotgun, you continued fighting the onslaught of demons alongside the now devil-triggered Nero.

It was like a beautiful deadly dance when the two of you got into your well-practiced tango of destruction. Nero would typically take a more topside approach, using his wings to pull things to him and then dropping them to you. His over-the-top chaotic slashing and slicing would then be cleaned up by you underneath him. You, who had the completely opposite style, opted for a calm and collected approach, especially if you were using Vergil’s gear. Times like these are something you cherish dearly and never want to end--even if you are being coated by blood and demonic entrails.

A sudden out-of-place movement caught the corner of your eye as you tried to move out of its path; however, you weren’t quite fast enough and got thrown across the room.

Nero’s attention was drawn to your flying body, “What the--!” before he could think he was hammer fisted directly into the ground below him. With a bright-blue flash, his devil trigger ended, leaving a confused and human Nero looking up at a strange figure above him.

The demon was not one Nero had seen before--it reminded him of the descriptions of the “Third Beast of Revelations”. However, its appearance wasn’t quite as he remembered being told--only having four of the seven heads that it is supposed to have.

The young man stood up, “What the hell are you supposed to be, huh?” he smirked. The creature lunged at him, which Nero avoided. He laughed a bit holding the Blue Rose aimed at the back of the beast, “Too slow. Wanna try again?”

Nero sidestepped the demon again but was hit by an unexpected swing of its tail. He dropped his revolver as he was tossed across the room. Nero went to get up again. Before he moved back in, however, his ears twitched at a strange sound. The hunter turned to his side and realized that the noise was your breathing. Gently grabbing your shoulder, Nero tried to shake you awake. Revenant and Beowulf had been tossed far from your body and you were out cold. Seeing as there was a large amount of blood dripping from your forehead, that wouldn’t be changing any time soon.

“Shit,” Nero mumbled under his breath as he pulled Red Queen from the resting place on his back, “You’re gonna owe me big time.”

With an impossibly blinding speed, the young hunter took off toward the large demon. Nero’s face was in a grimace as he focused the best he could without his trigger. In hindsight, he was regretting using his demonic energy on such a simple fight before.

His attempt at defeating this beast alone was futile; it was much too strong for him in this state. Another large hit from the beast sent him flying in the opposite direction as before; leaving your unconscious body as far from him as possible. The demon also noticed this as it turned its sights to your limp form.

“Tch, shit-” Nero hastily got up on his feet and ran to your aid; however, it was too late. The beast had your body in its grasp as it curiously looked you over. “Put them down you fuck!” his mind was racing; if something happens to you, Vergil will kill him.

With a grunt, Nero sprung up at the demon. Who only batted him away again. He used Red Queen to stop himself from flying so far off. Knowing there wasn’t time, he left the sword and was going to fight using just his hands. Was it stupid? Yes. Did he care? No, not if it meant trying everything he could to protect you--someone who had become essentially his step-parent.

However, the demon had no intent on letting you leave this place with the youngest Sparda descendant. It opened a fissure through the floor, but before leaving, attacked Nero one last time. It sent him flying in an almost straight line across the room and into a wall, knocking the hunter out cold.

Nero stood in front of where he had last seen you lay, your weapons were still strewn about and your coat had fallen from your shoulders as you were snatched upward. A cold heavy feeling sunk in as he just stood there staring.

Slowly he gathered your gear, he didn't know how he was going to tell the others what happened. Nero didn’t know whose response would be worse; Dante mocking him for his lack of skill or Vergil who would undoubtedly lose it over this.

He just wanted to go back to the DMC and get this over with. Nero left the demon nest, not caring that he hadn’t finished the job. Outside, Nico was in her van waiting for the pair’s return.

Seeing Nero, she opened the door of the van, “Took y’all long--” she paused, seeing the gear in Nero’s arms, “Whoa, wait… Where’s--”

“I don’t know,” Nero mumbled, refusing to look Nico in the eye as he got into the vehicle.

“Whatdya’ mean ‘you don’t know’?” her voice was playful, thinking that Nero was just fucking with her as he placed the items on the table.

He leaned a bit onto the table with his palms flatly pressed against it, “I don’t know where they are..!” he grimaced as he stood back up with clenched fists, “Some fucking big asshole took ‘em”

Nico’s expression and pose changed from casual to a more serious one, “Wait-- they’re really missin’?” Nero’s frustrated stare said it all, “Holy crap-- Should we call your folks, I’m sure--”

“It wouldn’t help,” Nero relaxed his fists and took a deep breath trying to calm down, “They’ve been gone for a while, their scent’s gone.”

“Shit,” Nico pursed her lips as she paused for a moment, “Well, whaddya’ wanna do?”

Nero looked over to her, “I want to go to the shop. This is more important than the job.”

“Gotcha,” Nico wanted to poke at him but found herself unable to. Nero looked beyond exhausted and she knew that the brother’s responses will be more than punishing enough.

Neither of them spoke the whole way back.

Not wanting to be there when the three devils rip each other apart, Nico just dropped Nero in the garage and left.

Deciding to wait a moment before going in, Nero focused his hearing. He only heard one heartbeat meaning there was only one person at the shop when he returned. Thankfully, upon opening the door, it was Dante.

The red devil sat at his desk with his back to the garage, “Hey, you two are back early,” his gaze didn’t leave whatever he was doing on his desk, “Was thinking about ordering a pizza. You guys want anything?”

Nero’s face was pale and gave no response. He just simply walked over to the coffee table and plopped down your coat and weapons.

Dante pouted slightly with confusion, “If you don’t want--” his brow twitched as he noticed that there was only one person that had come in, “Hey where’s--” his happy expression dropped quickly. He moved around to the side of his desk to see what Nero had just set down.

“Dante-” Nero bit his tongue in thought, “Before you go off; hear me out?”

He scratched the stubble on his face, “Sure, go ahead kid.” he leaned back onto his desk.

Nero explained what happened and what attacked them. Surprisingly, Dante wasn’t mad or made any rude jabs about things. He just simply nodded along and paid close attention.

“Well Nero,” Dante shook his head and sighed, “As much as I want to give you shit-- You’re lucky to be alive. That bastard ain’t an easy thing to fight, ‘specially without a trigger handy…”

Nero’s gaze found its way back down to your gear, “You think they’re still alive, Dante?”

He sighed and stood back up, “If they weren’t, Vergil would know by now,” he bit his lip, “Question is: why did the demon want them alive?”

“Think Vergil would know?”

“Doubt it, he knows just as little as I do about those beasts…" he paused briefly before continuing, "Look, Nero,” Dante set a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “go home. I will tell Vergil about this whole thing. He’s already ripped off your arm, I really don’t want him to try ‘n gut you too. Okay?”

Nero was taken aback by what he said and nodded, “Thanks, Dante.”

“Any time kid,” Dante removed his hand, “Just don’t come back till I let you know it’s safe. Might take your old man a few days to calm down.”

“Sure thing,” Nero moved to the garage door, “Keep me posted, yeah?”

Dante gave a stiff nod to Nero as he watched him shut the door.

“Vergil’s just going to gut us instead… You’re a fuckin’ genius, Dante.” he sighed at his thoughts. What the hell was he going to do?

A few hours passed before the door finally swung open. Vergil stepped into the shop raising a brow at his brother who was at the desk asleep. With a sly smile and shake of his head, Vergil walked further into the room.

However, that smile quickly faded upon seeing Revenant, Beowulf, and your folded jacket sitting on the coffee table, “Dante.”

The younger twin slowly blinked as he opened his eyes and sat upwards, “Hm?”

“What is--” Vergil’s brow slowly furrowed further and further, “Why is their gear here?”

“Well..” Dante stood up and took a deep breath, “Look I ain’t gonna sugar coat it: They are missing.”

“ What? ” Vergil’s voice was sharp as he glared at Dante.

“Look, before you go and try to kill Nero--It wasn’t his fault,” Dante shrugged, “We would’ve had a tough time with what happened.”

Vergil made sure to enunciate each word clearly, “Dante, what happened.”

“They were attacked by one of those Revelation beasts. Your kid barely made it out. Nero said that they took your partner with them, so the demon wanted them alive for some reason.”

Vergil’s face went pale as his blood ran cold, “Where were they, I want to have a look at things.”

“Sure thing… I’m coming with though--you might need me,” Dante winked then stretched with a groan.

“Whatever.”

They did go look. Vergil found nothing. It was a dead end.

Several months had gone by and the usual bustling and jovial atmosphere of the Devil May Cry had faded. Now all that remained was a quiet angst and depressed mood that was brought on by one individual alone.

The silence was broken by the sound of the garage door opening. Standing in the doorway were the two twin sons of Sparda; Vergil stood in front of Dante. The eldest headed up to his room, not saying a word. His silent steps were filled with anger; an emotion that has become a common theme in recent times. Dante just stood, watching his brother go up the winding stairs.

Across the room, Nero sat on the couch. His gaze moved off of his phone and onto the remaining brother--who was already raiding the fridge, “Any luck, Dante?”

“No! There was absolutely fucking nothing.” Dante was seething as he looked over at Nero, “Your old man is just so… infuriating; I am this close to shoving the Yamato so far up his ass--.” with a pinch of the bridge of his nose, the youngest twin huffed out a heavy sigh.

Nero shook his head with a small laugh; knowing exactly how Dante felt. Vergil would barely talk to Nero without getting an irritated tone and becoming condescending, “Don’t worry, it’s only gonna keep getting worse; how long’s it been anyways--four months?”

Dante let out a nod of affirmation walking over to his desk. He kicked up his feet and cracked open the bottle drinking the majority of the bottle in one go, “You know, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if Vergil’s going to storm his way down into Hell just to make sure he’s looked everywhere.”

“He’s that desperate, huh?” Nero sat forward more on the couch, paying more attention to what was being said.

“That doesn’t even come close to describing how Verge’s being. I mean,” Another wave of building frustration was slowing creeping onto Dante’s face signified by his furrowed brow, “I don’t blame him for being worried--I would be if it were my lover--but still…” he exasperatedly removed his boots from the desk, making a slight thud as they hit the floor, “-he doesn’t have to be such a dick about things. I’m trying to help.” Dante was attempting to find his happy place--lest he wants to have another hole in the drywall.

“Vergil being a dick is nothing new--you’d know that better than me--he’s just not used to needing help,” Nero stood up from the couch revealing a manila envelope in his hand, “On a better note: Morrison dropped this off while you were out, said it’s for your eyes only.”

“Really?” Dante reached forward and snatched the envelope, “I wonder what that means, Morrison doesn’t often--” his voice slowly drifted as something inside the folder caught his attention. He continued to flip through the documents faster and faster with a wide-eyed stare.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Nero leaned over trying to take a peek at the papers, “What’s so interesting, huh?”

Without answering, Dante jumped up from his seat. The youngest son of Sparda ran up the stairs and began to bang rapidly on a certain blue demon’s door, “Vergil! Vergil, open up! Come on! Verge--”

A door pushed hard into Dante’s shoulder as a set of mildly bloodshot iced-over eyes met his, “What is it?” Dante stood frozen for a moment, not expecting Vergil to have answered the door so quickly; let alone seeing him after he had been (what appeared to be) crying, “What do you want, Dante.” Vergil’s sharp tone cut Dante from his thoughts.

“Shit, sorry. Just--here,” he shoved the folder at Vergil, “have a look at this.”

Vergil lifted a brow in curiosity as he let go of the doorknob and stopped shoving the door into his little brother. Sighing quietly, Vergil began to sift through the documents and pictures; the further he read, the further his brow creased. Vergil’s voice was rough and cracked as he looked at Dante, “Where--”

“Morrison dropped it off while we were out. Gave it to Nero… Is it that what I think it is?”

Vergil cleared his throat and took a short pause, “It could be--I would have to see it to be sure.”

“Alright, then saddle up princess, we got a job to do,” and with that, Dante left before Vergil chastised him for the jab.

A few moments later, Vergil came downstairs with his demon hunting gear re-equipped. Dante stretched his arms upward cracking his back quite loudly, “Ready, Verge?” Vergil gave Dante a curt nod and began to walk toward the garage door. Before leaving, Dante humorously cooed at Nero, “Make sure to finish your homework and be in bed by 7. We will be back in the morning--so behave till then. Love youuu~” flashing a wide sharp-toothed grin, he waved and headed for the door--ignoring the fact that Nero just whipped him off.

“Where is the location?” Vergil’s voice was deadpan as he unsheathed the Yamato.

“Here-” Dante handed Vergil the paper with the address, “So, what are we gonna do if it really is--”

“Silence." Vergil’s voice was sharp as his eyes turned to a harsh squint in irritation; tossing the folder off to the side.

Dante pursed his lips, pouting slightly at his brother’s attitude; but, didn’t feel like bantering so he remained silent.

Upon exiting the portal, the twins looked in front of them. The object of the job was before them, a large nest that was crawling with demons. Not wanting to waste time, they both ventured forward.

A few hours passed as the brothers slashed their way through the mound’s inhabitants. Dante and Vergil stopped for a moment to catch their breath.

Dante adjusted his coat, “So, how far down do you think it’ll be? We gonna have to go all the way?”

“Most likely,” Vergil slicked his hair back, “Is that a problem?”

“ ‘Course not, just was wonderin’,”

Vergil didn’t respond and just continued forward, Dante following in toe.

Dante cracked his knuckles, “So if it is-- then what?”

“I do not know--nor will I know until I see it.”

“Really hope that this lead is real and not another stupid hoax,” Dante frowned.

“If it is not worth our time,” Vergil’s voice was filled with more hostility with every word, “I will make sure to give the client a visit .”

“No-- Vergil you can’t kill our clients; we are demon hunters, not people hunters. Plus, this nest needed to be taken care of anyway.”

The eldest twin only scoffed in response.

It had been nearly eight hours since entering the nest and they still had no signs of what they were looking for. Both of them were getting crabby at this point; Vergil about the lack of evidence and Dante because of Vergil’s attitude.

“I swear--” Dante growled in frustration, “I am going to just fucking dig my way to the bottom of this fucking bastard.”

“That is impossible,” Vergil’s voice held no emotion.

“I know, I am just getting sick of this shit,” he groaned, “Just feels like we are getting nowhere--that’s all.”

Vergil stopped and tilted his head up slightly. Upon seeing this, Dante stopped as well.

“Verge, I didn’t-”

Vergil turned his head to the left and began to walk.

Dante rolled his eyes and pivoted in a grandiose manner, “Okay-ay, I guess we are goin’ this way now.”

They walked in silence for a few more minutes before coming to a dead end. Vergil began to scowl and stare at the wall.

“That’s a mighty fine wall there Verge, but what-”

“Break it.”

“... What?” Dante double-took at his brother’s words.

“I want you to break down this wall,” Vergil’s eyes moved sharply off the wall and to Dante.

“Look, Vergil, I made a joke about breaking shit down--wasn’t actually going to start--”

“Do as I say, Dante,” Vergil snarled, “Break. It. Down.”

Dante sighed, driving his sword into the ground, and responded by using a mocking baby voice, “Fine, mister grumpy pants.”

Using his Sin Trigger, Dante made quick work of the wall. The pair quickly stepped through as the hole repaired itself behind them. He shifted back into his human form and jogged after Vergil, who was already going forward. Another half hour passed of Vergil's speed walking forward intensely focused on something.

“Soooo… Plan on telling me what exactly you’re doing or are you gonna make me guess?”

Vergil hit Dante flat across the chest with a sheathed Yamato; before Dante could protest, he saw what his brother was staring at.

In front of them stood a fairly huge demon--the same one from the job's folder. The creature was similar to a centaur; however, a lizard (or demon) had been thrown into the mix as well.

A large spear was held by one of its three-fingered hands. On the body, there were three sets of violet claws; the legs of which were covered in a thick dark midnight blue fur with bits of sky blue streaks scattered throughout. Three maroon-scaled tails protruded from the back of the creature, a thin cerulean membrane trailing up the middle of each topside and trailing up the base of the creature’s skull.

Layered scales, colored the same as the tail’s, ran up the underbelly, body, and torso of the demon. Pale teal-green scaled skin was exposed through the frontline of the torso, showing off a muscular structure similar to that of a human.

Continuing up those scales led you to the head of the beast. It was similar in shape to a human’s but had seven eyes of pure milky white which filled the entire front due to the lack of a mouth. Extending from the sides of the face, there were clay-grey semi-transparent frills--appearing very much like a frilled lizard’s--that ran from the underside of the jaw up to a set of horns that the frills connected to.

Dante nudged Vergil, “Man, I thought Lady’s demon form was ugly--theirs takes the cake. Good job using that nose of yours and finding your mate, good thing you--” he stopped noticing his brother’s glazed-over stare.

Vergil was paying no mind to Dante or anything around him. His eyes were focused on the trinket that was embedded right in between the creature’s collar bones, nestled deep in the suprasternal notch. His blood ran cold as he would know that jewelry anywhere; it was his amulet half--the one he had gifted you on your anniversary nearly a year ago. He stood, unmoving--not even taking deep enough breaths to move his chest. Everything in him told him to fight the capsule of a demon in front of him; yet, he couldn’t bring himself to.

Dante, however, was paralyzed by neither fear, grief, nor anger; he was actually glad they finally found you. Giving one last glance at his, still very frozen, brother Dante moved into the large space--drawing the demon’s attention.

“So,” he started, “this is where you’ve been hanging out, huh? ‘Place is kind of a drag if you ask me,” Curiously, the demon slowly approached Dante, staring at him, “You ain’t gotta make this hard--just lay that big stick down and let us-” he looked back at Vergil, who still hadn’t moved, “or well let me get you outta there. Whaddya say?”

It stood in front of the younger brother for a moment then turned its head to look at Vergil. Without even returning their attention back to Dante, they punted the younger brother across the room with one swing of its paw. A loud crack emanated from the force of him hitting--and going through--the wall.

“Son of a Bitch…” With a groan, Dante slowly stood back up, “And I’m supposed to believe you’re the same person that gives me shit for my hugs.”

Digging his heels into the ground, Dante took off running. He raised his Devil Sword as he got within striking distance; however, the demon only backhanded him, sending him flying once more. The creature still hadn’t torn its gaze from Vergil; it almost seemed as if it was trying to place the eldest son. Dante attempted to strike again, only to be hit away for a third time.

The eldest son’s mind was racing; between infinite anger that spiraled to the deepest darkest depths of his demon and immense guilt for not protecting you eating at his human consciousness--Vergil, for the first time in a long time, was completely frozen. He was your boyfriend, your lover, your mate; he should’ve been there to protect you: instead, you ended up suffering something that he wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

“Okay, you bastard,” Dante sniffled as blood began to drip from his nose, pulling out Ivory & Ebony, “Let’s try this, shall we?”

Upon feeling the bullets hit the side of their legs, the demon turned to Dante--finally breaking their piercing staredown. It trotted towards Dante and swung its spear, only missing Dante by mere inches. He jumped onto the spear and ran up it, still firing the twin pistols. The creature used its free hand to grab Dante; moving much faster than the devil hunter had expected, and began to constrict him.

“Heh, you got quite the--,” he let out a strained groan, “quite the grip.”

Dante struggled a bit trying to loosen the demon’s grip. He couldn’t focus like this and, if he couldn’t focus, triggering (in any capacity) was off the table. So, Dante did what any younger sibling would do; he started to yell for his big brother.

“Vergil-- I could use a hand here!” Dante’s body started to ache from the pressure, “God damn it! VERGIL!”

The loud shouting from his baby brother pulled Vergil from his thoughts. He looked up at Dante and started moving. The demon’s attention was now drawn to the sudden movement of the oldest brother and ever-so-slightly loosened its grip. Not wanting to waste the chance, Dante quickly triggered; making the demon drop the lava-hot Dante.

“He-hey! Nice to see you finally helping out,” Dante rolled avoiding the large spear.

Glaring over at Dante, Vergil teleported near the creature’s ankle and sliced it with Mirage Edge; coating him with the creature’s blood.

Vergil moved to Dante’s side taking advantage of the few moments of reprieve the attack gave them.

“So, got any ideas?” Dante tried to wipe some of the blood off of Vergil’s face using his coat; however, Vergil harshly swatted away his hand.

Vergil’s brow furrowed, “Its front and neck would be the best places to try and cut it open; given its scales might be much thicker than I think…”

Dante twitched his head to the side in a nod, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, “Better than nothing. Shall we?”

The twins decided to split, each going opposite ways. Confused about what to do, it followed Dante with its body while attempting to use its tails and back paws to hit Vergil.

Dante took another large hit and created another crater in the wall. He fell to the ground catching himself at the last moment, coming to rest in a kneel. He took a moment to wipe some blood that had begun to drip from his mouth.

A large heavy object slammed into Dante, it was Vergil. The two of them hit the wall together, Vergil’s weight only shoving Dante further into the already-created crater: they both were going to be sore after this.

They both removed themselves from the wall and stood side by side, both slouching slightly.

With a growl-covered groan, Vergil’s eyes sharpened their gaze upon the demon, “You still have a trigger left in you, brother?” his breath had become slightly ragged.

Despite his exhaustion, Dante clapped back with his typical sarcastic tone, “Always--you sure you wanna use yours?” Dante straightened his posture.

Vergil flicked out his arm on the side opposite Dante, summoning his doppelgänger, “For this, yes.”

There was a flash of light and the two were both in their Sin Triggers. It was quite the sight, one that only would occur when the brothers were fighting themselves. Neither of them had to tell the other what the plan was; perks of being twins as Dante would say.

Taking the same approach as before, they spilt ways--Doppel following beside Vergil.

The demon was confused and turning itself around in circles over how many fast-moving targets it was now presented with. Vergil and Doppel managed to keep the creature’s attention long enough that Dante was able to get behind the creature’s head. With great strength, Dante grabbed the creature’s horns and pulled its head back. He did his best to keep it steady; however, it thrashed like a bull and unexpectedly was able to shake Dante around. Seeing his brother struggling, Vergil sent Doppel to assist him. With the two both pulling on the creature in opposite directions, the thrashing slowed.

Seizing the opportunity, Vergil shot up the midline of the torso cutting along it with the Yamato. Once he reached the bottom of the amulet, he stopped and fell back to the ground calling back Doppel; Dante followed suit.

They both stood as humans, having exhausted their demonic energy, staring with bated breath. The demon’s midline showed the cut; however, nothing was happening.

“Verge ain’t--” Dante’s face went pale after turning towards his older brother.

Vergil looked pissed, no, he looked beyond pissed. His grip had tightened on the Yamato so hard his knuckles were turning colors. Without warning, Vergil triggered himself once more and took off toward the demon; this time, however, the creature wasn’t being held back by others.

He jumped off of the spear that had been swung and avoided the other hand’s attempt at grabbing the blue devil. His speed was unimaginable as he was instantaneously on top of the demon’s head. With great effort, he plunged Mirage Edge deep into the scaly skin and tissues of the creature. Swiftly, he yanked the blade down the middle of the face, down the throat, and stopped above the necklace. With one of his forearm blades, Vergil gouged out the amulet and tore it from its resting place.

A large amount of blood began to spew from the new incision. Vergil was thrown violently from the beast as it began to flail about. A plume of blue energy emitted from the man as he hit the floor--hard. Dante ran over to the hole containing the other twin with slight concern. The once again human, Vergil lay unmoving in the newly-formed crater as Dante slid down to his brother’s side.

“Hey, you’re not dead--right?” the red demon poked Vergil slightly.

Vergil slowly opened his eyes and glared up at Dante, “It will take much more to kill me,” he sat up and groaned quietly in pain, “I assure you, little brother.”

Dante laughed and offered a hand to help Vergil up; which, normally he wouldn’t accept but today Vergil was too exhausted to fuss over such things.

Upon exiting the crater they found the demon laying on its belly like a resting horse, slowly bleeding out from Vergil’s second attack.

Vergil moved to finish it off but was stopped by Dante’s forearm, “Allow me.”

Dante carefully used his Devil Sword and re-cut over the Yamato’s shallow slice. Although the demon was dying, it did put up somewhat of a fight by swinging its hands and claws at Dante; all the while, its gaze found Vergil’s again--who was slowly approaching the suffering creature.

“Just die already, you son-of-a-bitch,” Dante growled through his teeth as he dug his sword further into the demon’s stomach, making it shout an ear-piercing sad cry; which sounded almost human-- Vergil did his best to ignore that part.

The demonic corpse dissolved slowly. Vergil had made it to his brother’s side as he watched the disintegration before them. He bent over and picked up the amulet that he had dropped while being thrown around. With a gentle sigh, Vergil placed it into his pocket and stood back up.

The pair's attention was now drawn to where the head of the beast once lay. In its place, you were laying there; naked and dead to the world. At first, the brothers thought you were actually dead but then they heard your faint heartbeat and took a sigh of relief.

Vergil’s expression was a strange mixture of joy, anger, and sadness. He walked over to you, his steps were cautious and silent. Once by your side, Vergil removed his coat, gently wrapped you in it, and picked you up. His brief moment of solace was interrupted by a large tremor.

“Hey, uh, Verge--” Dante quickly moved to his brother’s side, “You gonna be able to get us outta here?”

Vergil paused for a moment giving thought to whether he could or not, “Yes,” he pursed his lips.

Dante noticed his hesitation and was going to question him; however, the younger brother quickly put together why. “Vergil, hand them to me--you can’t use Yamato like that.”

“No, I--” another tremor broke off a part of the ceiling nearby, “Fine.”

Vergil handed you over to Dante and pulled out the Yamato. With a deep breath, he sliced open a portal and traversed through with Dante right behind him.

Once out of the other side, Vergil didn’t even give Dante a chance to think before ripping you from him. Vergil knows that Dante wouldn’t dare hurt you, however, he had an overwhelming urge to keep you far from anyone besides himself.

Dante looked around and scratched the stubble on his jaw, “Uh, Vergil… This ain’t the shop,” the pair was standing where they had entered nearly twelve hours prior.

With a low mumble, Vergil avoided looking at Dante, “I don’t have the energy for that…”

Dante bit his tongue hard--all he wanted to do was poke fun at Vergil and would have if Vergil was in a better headspace. Instead, he just simply nodded at Vergil, “Well… I can call a ride if you want..? I’m sure Nico wouldn’t mind picking us up--given she’ll want a cut of the pay.”

“She can have my half; I got what I came for,” money was the furthest thing from the blue devil's mind, all he could think about was that he finally had you back.

“Alright--you sure you’re okay with--”

“Yes.”

Dante let out a small ‘heh’ and pulled out his very well-protected phone.

Nico showed up around an hour later. Once stopped, the door swung open, and out strode Nero.

He looked over at his father and uncle, who were sitting on a ledge and the floor respectively.

“Holy shit, you actually found them? Nico said that Dante-- I didn’t believe her…” Nero extended a hand to help the very sore Dante off the ground. Without so much as a nod to his son, Vergil got into the van.

Dante groaned and cracked his back, “Don’t take it personally, kid. Vergil’s in a weird mood.”

“What happened? I saw the folder that was thrown on the floor of the garage, but--” the pair began to walk to the van side-by-side, “I don’t get how you knew.”

“When we get back… or after I take a hot shower and nap… I’ll fill you in on the details at some point,” Dante slumped down on the couch in the van that was opposite Vergil.

Before Nero could protest at Dante’s wait time, the younger twin was sound asleep--even snoring a little.

With everyone in the van, Nico began to drive; despite Nero still standing. Before the youngest Sparda descendant went up to his seat, he turned to Vergil, “You uh… gonna be okay?” Nero felt awkward asking the typically stoic man such an out-of-character question.

Vergil looked up at Nero with a confused tilt to his brow then back down to you, “In time, yes.”

Nero nodded--shocked that he got anything other than ‘yes’ or the silent treatment--and went up to the passenger seat for the rest of the quiet ride back to the shop.

The moment the van stopped; even before Nico had turned off the ignition, Vergil got up and was out the van door. He thinks he heard someone say something as he left, but he didn’t care. All he wanted right now was to be in his room with you in his arms. Quickly and quietly he headed up the stairs and into his room.

The eldest son prides himself on being the cleanest member of the Sparda line; however with you being gone, he had stopped caring about such trivial things. The room had quite a few sets of worn and unworn outfits strewn about. Several cups of half-drank liquids sat on various tabletops. The room wasn't messy by normal standards but Vergil was far from "normal".

He walked over to his bed. Vergil moved you so he could support your body with one arm and fixed the disheveled mess that was his bed. Once satisfied, he set you down on the bedding; he noticed that you were filthy --which wasn’t surprising due to what had occurred.

Vergil hesitantly left his room to get some warm water, rags, and some medical supplies. It took him a moment to figure out what to grab--he wasn’t the best at treating wounds, he hasn’t ever needed to know such things; so he was as methodical as possible. Seeing how Vergil was struggling to find what he needed, Nero silently helped his father gather what was needed. Vergil gave Nero a solid nod in acknowledgment of his help.

Upon returning to his room, Vergil began to gently wash your dirt and blood-ridden skin. While doing so, he noticed his hands had begun to shake. Furrowing his brow and pursing his lips in confusion, he stopped momentarily. Vergil never shakes, so what was going on?

Using exhaustion as an explanation, he dismissed it with a shake of his head. Vergil continued to clean your body. You had visibly become slimmer from the several months of entrapment. His eyes moved up to your face, you were still sound asleep but he noticed that you looked deathly sick.

He took the rag and rung it out. Your body was cleaned; however, you were still covered in wounds. Vergil knew that he couldn’t do anything for the copious amounts of bruises you had, so he moved to take care of several burn marks you had obtained; most of which were around your neck from Dante pulling on your demonic prison. Vergil put some burn cream onto his fingers and softly rubbed it on the marks. Letting out a shaky sigh, he moved on to the last thing he had to tend to before dressing you.

The Yamato might not have mortality wounded your capsule, but it seemed to have nicked your midline all the way up--the cut was too thin and clean to have been from Dante’s Devil Sword. After wiping his hands off, he applied an antibiotic gel along the cut. If you had been awake, you would have cussed him out, no doubt. The thought brought a small smirk to Vergil’s face.

He grabbed the gauze and began to dress the wound; however, Vergil stopped. His vision had become blurry and his mind went blank. During these past four months, he had cried a few times, but it was always controlled and well-restrained.

Right now, though? He felt like screaming. He felt like weeping until he became ill. All he wanted to hear was your voice, to feel your lips on his face, to be held as he sobbed uncontrollably. Vergil felt like a little kid again; alone and afraid of losing those he loves. A whimpering hiccup brought him out of his thoughts as he looked up at you. Confusion sunk in as he saw you were still fast asleep.

He froze. The noise had come from him. Vergil tried to suppress his tears; he hard-shut his eyes, tried angrily furrowing his brow, and even tried looking upwards; nothing worked.

Nothing could stop the storm of pitiful tears that leaked from his tired eyes. So, he worked through them and finished patching you up the best the blue devil could.

Another strained whimper left his lips as he straightened himself back up. You didn’t live at the DMC with the brothers, so Vergil did not have any of your clothes. He knew he couldn’t just leave you naked (since anyone could walk in and see you) so he rustled through his clothing. Vergil didn’t have much in the sense of “casual” clothes which made this difficult.

Eventually, he decided on a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a sleeveless black turtleneck. He managed to get you into the much-too-big clothing and tucked you into the duvet of his bed.

Vergil spent the rest of the night by your side holding your hand as he quietly grieved.

Sunlight spilled into the dark room through the slightly ajar curtains. It was nearly noon and Vergil hadn’t moved from his spot next to you. Nero and Dante had both peaked in to check on you and the visibly exhausted hunter a few times… which they only got stared at in response.

The blue devil could hear your heart and your breathing just fine; but, was unable to keep himself from thinking you weren’t going to make it. He had convinced himself that this whole ordeal was his fault.

“Maybe if you hadn’t had such a noticeable trinket on you wouldn’t have been taken.” he thought, “or was it because you have been associated with our cursed bloodline that this happened?”

He felt a stinging in his eyes start once more, “I should have been there. It is my job to protect you and keep you safe. I failed you just like I have to everyone else,” his lips quivered as his breath stuttered, “Perhaps you would be better off without me,” Vergil’s chest heaved and his face twisted into a grimace. Once more, he had lost control of his emotions as he unintentionally tightened his grip on your hand.

“You trying to break my fingers?” a hoarse sarcastic voice snapped Vergil to attention. You had woken up and were staring at him with a gentle concerned crease of your brow.

Without a word, Vergil pulled you into a tight hug. Even if he wanted to say anything, he couldn’t; not in the distraught state he was in. Although you were still weak, you began to rub his back as you hugged. You relished in his scent and touch; something that felt like a distant memory while ensnared in the demon’s body.

“Miss me?” you heard and felt him shutter. He pushed further into you making you acutely aware of the large slice on your midsection, “Ow, fuck--”

Vergil left the hug upon realizing what happened and, still unable to speak, pointed to your torso. With unsteady hands, you rolled up the very loose black fabric, “Oh…”

Pulling the shirt back down, you looked at Vergil. His face was puffy and his eyes were bloodshot with prominent tear stains running down his face. Slowly you reached for your lover’s face and gently thumbed one of the tears from his cheek.

Vergil grabbed your hand and held it to his lips, just setting them against your cold skin. His expression was a mixture of painful sadness and overbearing happiness. A crease formed on his brow as he shut his eyes tightly. You could see Vergil trying to piece together what to say.

A few brief moments passed before he spoke, scarcely louder than a whisper, “I thought…” you felt his lips shake against your clammy skin, “I thought you were…” Vergil couldn’t bring himself to finish his words.

You sadly smiled as you used your held hand to thumb over his stiff fingers, “and leave you alone? Not in a million years, Vergil.”

The tremble in his lips worsened as his lips gently kissed your hand, stifling a whimper.

After he let go of your hand, you moved to sit on the edge of the bed allowing your feet to dangle off the side, “Come here..?” you beckoned to your unraveling lover.

“Are you sure--I do not want to hurt you again,” his response was sheepish and meek.

Not taking no for an answer, you grabbed his hand and pulled him onto your lap. Having the large devil on your lap would have typically been uncomfortable; but, your want to hold him and comfort him in such a distraught state overrode every other thought.

He hesitantly straddled your lap. You noticed his uncertainty and gently pulled him closer, “Let me hold you, please?” you were trying to reassure him.

Which seems to have worked; he hastily put his arms around you. He held on tightly grabbing wads of the loose shirt’s fabric as if he were actively being pulled off of you. Since he was taller than you, his head rested atop yours. The side of your face was resting on his chest and your arms were wrapped around him as you began to rub his back once more.

The man’s breathing became ragged as he fought with himself and his emotions.

“Vergil, it’s going to be okay,” you lovingly rubbed your face against his chest, hearing his heart racing, “you can let go now.”

This small set of words finally undid the eldest son of Sparda.

You had seen Vergil cry before, but only in small quiet amounts; never as raw and shattered as this. The hunter began to shake within your grasp. The only noise coming from the man was loud uncontrolled sobs and sharp breathing. His grip on the shirt had become a death grip; holding on tight enough to rip through the tightly woven fabric. A deep rumble came from his chest as it seemed even his demon was crying out in anguish.

Deep within, you knew that these tears were for much more than your own disappearance. You knew that this strong soul had finally reached a breaking point. Closing your eyes, you pushed yourself into him and held him tightly, whispering sweet words of comfort to him. Gently and slowly, you kneaded against his back with your hands; knowing that it would comfort the blue devil.

Eventually, his cries slowed and his grip loosened. Vergil’s body shifted as he longingly kissed the top of your head. Letting out a heavy sigh and shutter, he leaned back. You smiled at him. Vergil smiled in return, his eyes creased at the edges pushing the few remaining tears from his eyes. He took one of his hands and placed it on your bicep. The other found its way to your face. He thumbed over your cheek and lips with an undertone of uncertainty and disbelief; that this was real, that you were home.

You leaned into the warmth of his palm, “I missed you too, Vergil…” a wave of a soft sadness mixed with love washed over you, “so very much.”

ENDING NOTES: Hope y’all like the art with this one--admittedly this would’ve been done much sooner if I hadn’t decided to add that. The scales and all textures are not things I drew; they are all sampled from real things--the feet, for example, are textured using orange peel(s). All colors (except the maroon scales) are from Nelo Angelo and both of Vergil’s sin triggers--I did change some saturations, but the basis for them is all from the stoic man’s palettes. ⏳⏳⏳ I swear the next thing is not going to be more angsty/sad Vergil. I actually was writing this alongside “What Would They Think”--I’d get bored with one and write some for the other lol. Hopefully, you enjoyed this story! Much love y’all (I’m thinking something with V or Nero next; which, Nero’s H/Cs are the hardest thing for me to write for some fucking reason lmao idk what is going on with that.)

Bonus short story that I wrote as a warm-up; post story stuff:

Nero walked down the stairs of the Devil May Cry with a prominent dejected expression. With a small bounce to his step, the youngest Sparda descendant walked towards the fridge; however, an ‘ahem’ cough caught his attention.

J.D. Morrison was sitting on the edge of Dante’s desk smoking his typical stogie. The said owner of the desk was sitting there with a manilla folder in hand, staring at Nero.

Dante set the folder down, “So--” he leaned back in his chair, “How is he?”

Nero quickly glanced between the two, unsure of what he should and could say in front of the company broker.

The red devil raised a brow, “Well?”

“Uh-” Nero centered himself into Dante’s view, “He’s okay. Nothing’s really changed much.”

Dante slowly nodded and bit his tongue in thought for a moment, “... They awake?”

“No, doesn’t seem like they’ve even moved.”

“Damn it,” the younger twin sighed, “Let’s hope they do soon; I can’t stand seeing him like that.”

Nero shrugged, “At least Vergil’s not going to be a dick anymore.”

Dante laughed, “Careful, you might jinx us.” he grabbed the folder he had previously been paging through, “Interested in doing a job with me--takin’ Verge’s place for now?”

Nero took the folder from his uncle. After paging through it and reading it a bit Nero smiled slightly, “Sure, why not. Anything to get me out of here.”

“Good--” Dante turned his attention to Morrison, “We’ll take it.”

The broker smiled, “Glad to hear it. When--”

A loud abrupt noise cut off J.D.’s question. It had come from above them and Nero bolted to the stairs.

“Wait! Nero-” Dante got up fast enough to knock his chair over. He tackled Nero into the wall, preventing his ascension upward, “Stop.”

“Let go of me!” Nero shoved Dante off of him.

Dante put Nero in a sloppy cradle pin; holding him still, “Listen for a minute.”

The young hunter stopped struggling. He furrowed his brow as he whispered, “Is that crying? ”

With the same volume, Dante responded, “Yeah, it’s from Vergil.”

They untangled from the floor and stood up. Both of them decided to grab their gear before Dante acknowledged the semi-confused Morrison, “Let’s take this somewhere else--give Vergil his privacy.”

“Fine by me,” he stood up from the desk, “Although it would be nice to get an explanation once we leave.”

Dante nodded with an unintentional smile, “Not much to say… Just a long overdue reunion.”

ENDING NOTES (FOR THE SECOND STORY): I figure that Vergil and Dante might not get along per se, but are able to be kind of nice to each other. Giving each other support or defense when needed; they are family after all. (This is why Dante wants to leave)

Want to see more like this? Want to read my work quicker and several stories that are not on Tumblr? Check this out on my AO3 (Linked here)

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

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angelbroad · 1 year ago

Text

"Honestly, why would I care?"

Type: Fanfiction

Fandom: Mortal Kombat

Character: Bi-Han

“Honestly, why would I care?”

That is what Bi-Han would tell others when they would tell him news about his brother and Tomas, about their new family back at the Shirai Ryu. Why would Bi-Han care about a traitor like him? Family was not meant to betray one like that, let alone their Grandmaster. If Kuai Liang had any respect, he would stay, and so would Tomas. But they didn’t. Instead, they ran to Japan and straight under the wings of some sword-wielding woman. No, Harumi Shirai, that was her name.

The woman was not even the biggest threat. That shapeshifter had come too, and a revenant along with it. The first time he had encountered Hanzo Hasashi was in the battlefield, the day he almost died.

Bi-Han swore he would, too. He was on the verge of death, laying in a pool of his icy blood. He would die that day if it weren’t for Kuai Liang, who prevented Hasashi from landing the finishing blow.

In a way, Bi-Han was hopeful after that encounter. That meant his little brother still had some sanity left in him. He would have to work hard however, for Kuai Liang was locked behind a door that refused to let Bi-Han in.

It was not his fault! All he did, he did for their family. Kuai Liang would not understand what their father did, would refuse to believe he was in any way more than just a ‘strict parent’. He hated how his brother would always choose to extend kindness first, without thinking about the consequences. First it was the shapeshifter. Granted, Bi-Han had tried to recruit the kid as well, but before he had the knowledge of their true nature. Kuai Liang, however, kept that thing close to him, gave it a home with his new clan. And then...it was Hasashi. Why in the name of the Elder Gods would he think being close with the literal King of Hell would be a good idea in any kind of timeline??

He could not process their falling out, his brain simply refused to acknowledge it. Bi-Han knew he would have to face Kuai Liang again eventually, and by extention, the Shirai Ryu. He had tried to wall himself off from the connection he wanted to desperately belive still existed between them, but it was all in vain. The Lin Kuei would prevail, the Shirai Ryu would loose, and Bi-Han would make Tomas and his brother see to reason. And hopefully, he could be rid of the King and the shapeshifter.

In the end, their conflict was imminent, and Bi-Han had kept a serious and cold persona for his interractions the Lin Kuei’s members. If they saw how weak he truly was emotionally without his brother, why would they continue to follow him? So, for that reason, his response to news of his brother’s personal affairs was always the same.

Honestly, why would I care?

#fictober23 #mk1 #mortal kombat #mk au #bi han

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morvantmortuary · 11 months ago

Text

the night before -

The Morvants have their own Christmas Eve traditions.

warnings: allusions to child death and animal death, some gore, necromancers being creepy and possessive.

(I wanted to get this up earlier tonight, but my sister in law got in and I got distracted visiting, so! consider this a late night bite for the nocturnal crowd 🖤

As always, you can read this for just your favorite, or you can read it as though you’re dating a combination of all three - so long as you don’t mind your bed being very crowded at the end 😜)

All three Morvants share memories of the looming dread the holiday previously inspired:

The skeletal revenants that glowered through the House in the days leading up to the gathering — ritualistically sweeping, dusting, and mopping until their fingers fell off, or their task was complete and they immediately collapsed again into a heap of paper-thin skin and bones (that the boys then had to sweep up themselves and return to the basement).

The continued frustration of Maxi and Hector being constantly shooed out of the kitchen, despite both eagerly wanting to help prepare for the festivities, and being forced to go sit uncomfortably with the other men of the family as they visited before The Night’s Trial. Not to mention the guests of They Who Decide, who lounged around smoking eye-watering cigars and drinking heavily in the parlor while they talked of their grim variations of business.

The fury of a protesting Rora repeatedly being near-dragged back into the kitchen by her mother’s iron grip at her elbow, no matter how often she tried to slip away, or fake cramps or a headache in the later years, because Mathilde insisted it would be Rora’s duty to be hostess of such glittering evenings herself one day.

(Hector, to this day, swears that whatever dish Rora was forced to touch during the cooking process always tasted bitter. Like her anger had seeped into the food itself.

Rora, when asked, would simply say it was a trace amount of the cyanide her mother had caught her trying to slip in when her back was turned.)

The stiff, uncomfortable clothes - starchy old-fashioned suits for the boys, a tulle nightmare-confection for Rora, all with entirely too much ancient lace and in a grim grave-shroud white for the season.

They would be buried in them, after all, if they failed. As Vincent so loved to remind them.

Where other children waited eagerly for Christmas Day, eyes bright with the hope of presents to come, the three little ones all felt dread piling up in the pits of their stomachs like snowdrifts for weeks in advance. Each door of the antique wooden advent calendar revealed another implied threat — behind one, the baby teeth of a long dead relative who had neglected his necromancy studies. Another displayed two desiccated little slips, barely bigger than moth wings: the eyelids of a little girl who wasn’t asleep when Saint Nicholas arrived.

None of them cried when they took turns unveiling each grim reminder. They stopped all that carrying on when they were seven and eight, respectively, even when the occasional wet specimen — already milky white from a century of preservation — made one of them shiver, unsettling their breakfast in their stomach.

The little cabinet of horrors sat on the mantle all the way up to Christmas Eve, Vincent’s recitations of how each souvenir came to reside there echoing in their heads as they went about their Yule preparations.

Maxi would join his father in the embalming room, preparing for his teenage apprenticeship that would be his destiny. He learned how the dead would whisper anything they could still remember, too terrified to remember restraint, and how to salt the wards in the House’s guts that kept madness and death where they belonged.

Hector’s father would take him into what would one day be repurposed as his dark room, where he would study how to make himself a better vessel for the dead (until his mother Esperanza found an excuse to spirit him away, and showed him how redraw the boundaries within his own head).

Rora would be left alone with Mathilde, who would at first be eager for the prospect of time shared with her only daughter… until she sulked and snapped her way through every attempted lesson in the Things A Lady Should Know, be it cooking or sewing or coquetry. When Mathilde at last threw her hands up in disgust, waving Rora away, she would be left to her own devices… as well as her grandfather’s taxidermy diagrams and tools.

The three would study as diligently as each knew how, learning whatever tricks they could that might give them a way to survive the encounter.

At midnight, they snuck into each other’s rooms - a different one every night, so they might avoid any lurking ears or spectral gaze - and traded what little they knew. It was against the rules of the challenge, and if caught, they would all have to pay the price.

But none of them wanted to see the others lost. Especially to the black teeth and sightless eyes of that ancient wretched thing.

Though they had no way of knowing it yet, this would be only the first instance of breaking every rule they were ever forced to learn,

Ten Christmas Eves, they survived.

Every one of them made it out of the midnight maze one way or another, some years by the barest strands of ectoplasm.

Sometimes Saint Nicholas stole a strip of skin, a hank of hair from their scalp — anything it could get its bone-thin hands on, desperate to sate the aching hunger that plagued it. Hector lost one of his back molars the year he turned fifteen, and saw the creature place it right in his own jaw before he fell back through the other side of the dark.

They found each other every time as dawn broke over the cemetery on Christmas Day, wrapping each other in the by-then damp blankets that had been left out for them on the frozen ground, and watching the light push back every scrap of night left to make sure the creature in red couldn’t find its way back out to them again.

Then Hector was taken away to Mexico when he was sixteen.

Rora died the day she turned eighteen.

Hex completed his last run through the midnight maze by himself, and Maxi’s first Christmas Eve not spent fleeing in terror happened in a House where the only voices were those of the dead.

Those years, they all agreed, were the worst.

Christmas Eve with you is so different, for them, it’s surreal.

While Halloween holds his heart, Maxi doesn’t mind Christmas so much anymore. After years of keeping only to the traditional decorations so his late ancestors didn’t complain - red candles, white lights, garlands of dried herbs that had been handed down for generations - he finds he actually enjoys dressing up the House when you’re around.

He lets himself be silly now, hanging black stockings with skulls and crossbones for each of you on the mantle, decorating a tree with peculiar and morbid little ornaments - many of which are now momentos from the odd places the two of you end up together. He insists on watching Nightmare Before Christmas and It’s a Wonderful Life at least once each season, in pajamas with hot cocoa, and he has a whole other repertoire of cookie recipes that he only makes in winter.

(If he holds you a little tighter and kisses your temple during George Bailey’s shouts of delight as he realizes he’s alive again, you don’t notice enough for it to strike you as odd.

You’ll never know how happy you made him to be alive again, too.)

He relishes the hunt for the perfect present, spending all year making notes to himself about the things you want but hesitate to buy yourself, or what you’re still trying to convince yourself you need. He wants to take care of you in any way he can, and if that means giving you permission to let yourself have something, then he’s happy to grant it.

A pattern returns from your more intimate moments, though: he focuses all his attention on you, eager to please, but the minute you show him any attention in return, he’s so overwhelmed he nearly forgets what he wants altogether.

You’re enough.

Every Christmas morning he wakes up in your bed with you, unscathed and unbloodied, unafraid, is more than enough.

Christmas Eve, however, he still insists on the two of you staying at your place.

He frames it more as wanting a break from the House, with all the decorating he’s been up to, and that’s sort of right. But truthfully, it’s because he’s certain he’ll never be able to sleep there on Christmas Eve as long as he’s on this side of the Veil.

At night, after the two of you have finished your last sugary snacks, and he’s held your back against his chest until you slip into a seamless sleep, he still lies awake until he absolutely has to move. He kisses the soft center of your cheek before he does, as if that itself is a spell of protection for the brief time he’s away.

He pads on silent feet to your living room, pausing at your fireplace with a wary glare to ensure his contingency measures are still in place.

The fine strand of silver-coated wire glints in the light, stretched taut across the width of your firebox and deceptively smooth for how sharply razored it actually was.

On your hearth, there are wards and glyphs in an unrecognizable dialect, all written in something the dull color of dried blood.

Subconsciously, he sucks the tip of his index finger as he turns towards your front door, the faint taste of iron filling his mouth.

Toeing into his shoes and sliding on his coat, he steps outside onto your porch as silently as he can manage. When he hears no noise from your bedroom at the creak of the floorboards of the soft squeak of the door hinge, he finally closes the door.

While you sleep, warm in your bed and your sugarplum dreams, he circles your house counter-clockwise seven times, trailing salt behind him as he speaks in a dialect of Louisiana French you’ve never heard from his lips in the daylight.

When he hears the slow, rhythmic ring of distant sleigh bells, he doesn’t stop or hesitate. He keeps one eye on the moon, iris reflecting solid red in the winter light.

He’s not a crying little boy anymore. He can fight back now, and he knows damn well how.

If he speaks the invocation a little louder, a challenge to the listening dark, he doesn’t realize it.

He’d take apart a centuries-old shambling corpse of Theseus of you. In a heartbeat.

When he enters your house again, the salt border over the sparse ice on the ground gleams with a tinge of red like bloody snow.

After checking the fireplace one more time, he finds the most central, load-bearing wall in your house. It has to be this one. No other will do.

He sets his left palm against it, feeling for something… before he sets his right one against it as well, satisfied. He leans his forehead in the space between them, and as his eyes close, the words tumble out of his mouth on an exhaled sigh.

If he’s learned anything in all of this - how the flesh and the sinew of a body calls to him above all else, how blood controls the flow of life, how decay is the purest form of devotion - he knows how to protect you.

And he’ll do it with everything he has, to his last breath.

Then he’d come back and do it again, so long as you were still alive.

The heater in your house kicks on briefly as something seeps deep through the wall, starting and stopping in a perfect imitation of a single human heartbeat.

Satisfied for now, Maxi abandons his shoes and his coat, padding his way silently back towards your room.

When he passes the innocuous milk and cookies waiting on your coffee table, he mutters a curse for the devourer to choke on them, long and hard.

He’ll spend the rest of his night with one of his hands under your heart and the other wrapped around his scalpel.

If he looks a little tired in the morning, when you kiss the edges of the bags under his eyes, he’ll only grin and tell you he was too excited to sleep.

Hector is used to loud, crowded Christmas Eves, whether it’s warm and welcoming with his mother’s family, or cold and cramped with the elite of They Who Decide.

The ones he spends alone with you, however, are always his favorites.

Hex, for not liking to sing too much, is nearly always humming something cheerful under his breath when the two of you are together. He’ll sing quietly along to the remixed and traditional carols from his childhood that he has on a playlist dancing in small, shuffling steps through the kitchen as he prepares his next creation. If it’s a baked good, there might be a few pleading prayers in between verses, oscillating between languages, desperately trying to thwart the curse that causes some of his most beautiful creations to end up frosting-side down on the floor.

If it’s something he’s cooking, though, then whichever of your houses he’s in will be pleasantly warm and delicious-smelling for the rest of the evening, and even a bit into the next day.

When he’s not in the kitchen, then all the man wants is to be warm, and his favorite way to be warm is with you. He’ll spend all his time sprawled across your couch, keeping you next to him with a fuzzy blanket, or tucked into the other half of his hoodie. Being colder than you, he breaks out his collection of fuzzy socks, only sliding one off when he sneaks his toes onto the back of your knee to shock you awake from an afternoon doze.

His presents, while maybe not as obsessive, are still thoughtful. Something that makes him think of you, even if it’s not something you strictly need, per se. It’s also more likely to be something the two of you can share somehow: a movie you both wanted to see, a video game you can tag team on, a bottle of some really lovely mezcal to split after Christmas dinner. Something to give him an excuse to spend more time with you, even though he already loves being attached your side.

He’s going to be here forever. He’ll make sure of that.

He also would insist on spending Christmas Eve at your place — he knows the ghosts in the House very well. They’re family, after all.

But even that doesn’t mean shit on a silent night.

He makes sure to serve your favorite at dinner that night, getting you nice and pleasantly full and sleepy on something delicious. If you drink, he’ll encourage you to imbibe a glass or two, maybe three. Anything that will get you through this evening as quickly and painlessly as possible, to make sure there’s no risk of you waking up.

He couldn’t stand it if that scarlet-suited fucker ruined it for you.

He knows what that’s like.

He’s a restless sleeper, but he lays still with his lips to your shoulder until your breathing settles, and he can watch the gentle little twitches of your deepest dreams. He only moves when he’s sure it won’t disturb you, and even then, he lingers for a moment, caught by the curve of your eyelashes against your cheek. He has to remember to take a photo of that sometime. Capture it against film, so the beauty of it can be seen for long after you’re both gone.

He slips out to your living room, checking the precautions he’s set up for the umpteenth time: the firebox wire is fit in place, and he’s strung its match across the bottom of your bedroom door for good measure.

He can be hard to reach, sometimes, if his soul wanders away from his sleeping body. He’s not about to risk drifting off on the job when it comes to you.

If he’s lucky, he’ll remove it in the morning, and you’ll never be the wiser.

But better safe than sorry.

On the brick floor of the firebox is a thin scattering of terra-cotta colored ash, the scent still heavy on the air as if something beautiful was freshly burned. On the back wall are etchings of the same color: wards, drawn with a smoldering stick of his mother’s incense.

He isn’t sure if the remaining curls of smoke are actually comforting, or if it just smells to him like coming home after a long time away.

Seating himself in the dead center of your couch, he lets his head fall back, his hair spreading across the tops of the cushions. He puts his hands, palm-up, out to either side of him, arms limp like he excepts to fall asleep at any moment.

He listens to the soft sounds of your house, the settling of the floorboard, the winter wind tapping at the windows.

Like the ends of fingers, flesh gnarled away at the tips down to bone…

When he thinks he hears the faintest hint of crunching ice, he closes his eyes, and his chest falls still.

For a few minutes, there’s nothing. Utter silence, muffled by the cold against the glass panes.

His fingers twitch, moving like they themselves are dreaming.

When he opens his eyes again, breathing deep like he’s just come up from under water, both hands are being solidly held.

He sits up, looking to his right — and sees a stranger in a white nightdress.

Her features are pale, her lips blue like she was kissed by frost. Her hair hangs around her face like it’s still faintly damp with clammy sweat, and her eyes are glazed, even when it’s obvious she’s trying to focus on his face.

When he looks to his left, his heart drops.

Seated next to him is a young boy, no older than eight or nine. His clothes look like something out of a period film, patchwork at the knees of his pants and elbows of his jacket like they’ve been darned and re-darned multiple times.

His skin might have been tan, but the full color of it is lost under a disquieting yellow from underneath.

He must have been sick.

When he smiles at Hex, hopeful, one of his teeth is still missing.

Hector sighs, returning the smile somewhat guiltily.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

Quietly, he looks between them, and explains what they need to do. Where they need to stand, and for how long.

What to do if Saint Nicholas tries to talk to them.

They listen, and when he finishes, they sit so still he’s almost afraid they don’t understand.

But as one, they both silently rise to their feet, and turn in opposite directions. The woman exits through the back wall of your house, melting through like water. The boy, holding himself straight and proud with the weight of his new responsibility, marches through the front wall and out onto the porch.

With a quick look over his shoulder, and another smile through the window, he begins to circle your house.

Hector stays until they’ve both covered one counter-clockwise rotation, then rises to his feet. His joints crack a little as he does, and he winces slightly.

Before he heads back to your room, though, he looks over to where the milk and cookies are perched on your coffee table.

He uses both hands to flip it the bird. He put red pepper and cayenne in that shit, he hopes it hurts like hell going down.

Rora has… never been much of one for holidays. Especially not the ones that require being performing for family. She was already reminded every day how much she disappointed them by being something other than the perfect debutante; the holidays only heaped that on in spades.

But you. You are an excellent reminder of the joy that can be found by being alive.

In an attempt to make some cash (the whole ‘being undead’ thing kind of hampering the legal on-boarding process at most companies), Rora would be spending the season harvesting fresh mistletoe and American holly out of the swamp to make her own wreaths and decorations. She figures, having already established herself as a local artisan (to the degree that taxidermy dressed in burlesque gear counted as art — which maybe you would argue for more than her).

She wouldn’t drag you along to come foraging with her - unless you wanted to, in which case, you’d be more than welcome.

But she would be happy to spend the month joining you in whatever holiday traditions you preferred, as long as you didn’t mind her braiding and weaving various forms out of her plants when she did.

You’d sit with your head on her shoulder, your eyes torn between the black and white movie on the screen and the skillful work of her nimble hands. While you wrapped presents or trimmed your own tree, she’d be a chair away, working on her latest projects (until you needed help reaching something on the tree itself, in which case she’d immediately shoo you off the ladder like you were something fragile and take your place).

The only time her hands would stop were when the two of you were getting ready for bed — or when she’d abruptly appear next to you when you were reading or watching something, holding a sprig of fresh mistletoe over your head with a sly smile on her face.

For the holiday, you would find at the end of a silver chain a resin pendant, encasing a smaller sprig of mistletoe.

Rora, at your request, would put it on you immediately, her eyes glowing the same soft green as the leaves inside…

And then immediately bend down and enthusiastically kiss your chest, all over and then some.

She was only human, after all.

Mostly.

She, too, would insist on your house for Christmas Eve.

The House didn’t frighten her. Nothing really frightened her anymore, after being dead for so long.

Save for something happening to you. She would do anything, bend this world and the one beyond to her will, if it meant she could keep you from seeing a tenth of what she’d had to endure.

The mistletoe and holly served a dual purpose, you see. For every so many sprigs and boughs set aside for her little stand at the local flea market, she set one aside for you.

In the winter evenings, when you were busy with your own holiday secrets or blissfully asleep, she would tinker with the branches and the leaves, waiting for them to dry and diminish of their original hue before she infused it with some of her own.

On Christmas Eve, after she’d thoroughly worn you out before bed (she couldn’t cook, but she was always delighted to dine) and laid out milk and cookies both laced with enough cyanide to kill a horse (it wouldn’t work, it was just for her own catharsis), she set to work on her true, intricate design.

Yes, she uses the firebox wire, same as the boys. They’d been using it since they were thirteen, she wasn’t about to abandon tradition. But she also etches her own runes around your mantle, hiding them after with a garland of beautifully arranged plants that seems to nearly glow with just how verdant they are.

When the whole fireplace almost seems alive with fresh greenery, she settles herself on the hearth, pulling on the protective smock she wore over her clothes for all her taxidermy projects.

After a deep breath, and a moment to angle her arm around the firebox wire, she shoves her hand as far up the chimney’s throat as she can manage it.

She grumbles as she searches, wincing at the ash that falls while she moves her hand over the bricks and around the lintel - and nearly smashes what she’s looking for.

Oh-so-carefully, moving as slowly as she can, she frees the pathetic little bundle from its tomb before bringing it back down to her own eye level like she’s holding a handful of diamonds.

It is, in fact, a collection of mouse bones.

Small, sad, discolored from age and long shot of any fur it might have once had in life, the skeleton nearly crumbles apart in Rora’s hand.

She holds it close to her face, poking through it with her index finger as she counts. When she knows for sure she has the skull, and enough limbs for it to work, she folds the tiny remnants into her delicate fingers.

What happens next is hidden by the dark veil of her hair, her own deep green shining between the strands as she whispers something in Latin.

Around her, a breeze gathers in your perfectly still house, tiny whispers seeming to echo off the walls.

When she raises her head again, the scars from her own resurrection are a deep, pulsing green -

But the mouse skeleton is standing upright in her palm, assembled like it hasn’t been in years.

The eyeless little thing looks up at her, and if it had a nose to sniff and ears to twitch, it would.

She smiles at it - a soft one, one she usually only saves for you - and kisses the tip of her finger before pressing it to the tiny arc of the dusty skull.

The mouse, at first surprised despite its featureless face, presses back.

Rora strokes her finger along its spine, watching it shiver its little vertebrae in happiness as she whispers to it.

She holds her hand back to the firebox, and with some gentle urging, the little skeleton skitters onto the bricks again. Glancing back over its tiny scapulae, it eyes her with its empty sockets, before scrabbling its way back up into the chimney from which she pulled it.

Rora stands again, dusting her hands off on her smock before just standing there. Waiting.

Then, just as whispers had filled your house before, a new breeze sweeps along something else: squeaks.

As she listens, the tiny, echoing squeak develops yet another echo. Between your floorboards, she can see the hint of a deep green spark, which in turn seems to split itself in two.

She stares down, watching the green spark divide itself over and over as tiny echoing squeaks grows into a veritable chorus.

When it finally stops dividing itself, she stamps twice on the floorboards, and a mass of something that grows vivid green rattles incessantly in the direction of your chimney.

A small army of skeletal creatures in varying states of assembly squeezes its way out between the cracks in your floor, the pieces throwing themselves into the firebox and up the flue like some sort of horrific reverse vacuum.

Rora supervises until an entire extermination van’s worth seems to have shoved itself up your fireplace, glowing a nuclear green that fills the whole room, before it at last falls deceptively silent.

Smiling like a cat, she steps out of her smock, depositing it behind a chair and out of sight before sauntering her way back to your room.

Let that dead fuck try his luck against her new darlings.

She’d been wondering how well that petrified skin would hold up against thousands of little tiny teeth.

When she crawls back into your bed, you barely even stir when she pulls you close.

You will never know the terrors that lurk in the depths of old magic.This time of year will always be joyous for you.

They will each and all make sure of that.

(if you read this far, I hope your holiday is going swimmingly - or at least, less stressful than theirs. :’D thanks for stopping by and sharing part of it with us! 🥰♥️

merry creepmas to all, and to all a good fright! 🖤⚰️)

#slasher ocs #southern slasher ocs #necromancer ocs #queer horror ocs #original queer horror #christmas at the mortuary #morvant mortuary #maxi morvant #maximilian vincent morvant #hector morvant-casares #hex morvant-casares #hector emile morvant-casares #aurore morvant #rora morvant #aurore marie morvant #daniel brühl fc #diego luna fc #eva green fc #monsterkisser fics

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pom-pom-party · 5 months ago

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[Meet Your Heroes, Kupo!]

[Closed starter for @phoenix-flamed ]

For once the auroral winds that often came off the lakeside of Midgardsomnr’s grave had faded, to give a nice and warm disposition to the clamorous markets of Revenant’s Toll… But when wasn’t it sunny and shiny in Eorzea? Always so different from the cloudy atmosphere in Moghome.

Perhaps this is why the beaming lad found himself walking with his head held high to the air, taking in a long deep breath of the aether rich breeze as he adjusted the weight of his bag across his shoulder. There was always the familiar tail-flicking to the beat of a marketer’s song as he walked through the upper gate to the plaza - welcoming himself in with a silent grin to this ‘home’ he’d grown somewhat used too.

Of course, the reason for his early return was something of a sour note (Dismissed from the group due to their lacking faith of his experience) but Ji Ji Moguri, the grand adventurer, wasn’t about to let that get him down!

For a moment those chalk white ears drooped before he shook his head with comical vigor, the bright fluffed pom at the end of his tail swaying back into a casual tempo.

Once more that bag slipped a bit from his lean frame, the ‘lanky’ limbs of the Miqo’te body still somewhat of a stranger to the Moogle; though as his gaze sparkled across the bustling crowds as he continued onwards with a pip in each step that jostled his feline ears with a jaunt.

Before the young man could find another thought swimming across his tanned complexion, the fur of his Pom tingled as bright eyes fell onto a large crowd that had gathered towards the bottom of the hill, the balloons of a Chocobo’s carriage seen above even the taller statures; with some of the annexed refugees coming and going from the mess of conversations.

Realization sparked across his fur in time with a sharp toothed smile.

Sir Rosfield was here.

Pawed feet tapped against the dark cobblestone in place to a rapid beat - one usually shown by a fluttering of wings that weren’t there at the moment - and without a single thought in his head, he was already running down the incline; the swaying pom of his tail swishing to and fro.

As a well known man who often came to Revenant’s Toll, Elwin Rosfield was almost a myth to the wannabe adventurer, always happening to come to the plaza on the hours the moogle himself wasn’t there (Or… happened to be sleeping somewhere), a charitable and kind soul that had a wealth of experience under his belt on how to be… well, good!

Gemmed eyes blinked as his thoughts finally caught up with his actions. Was he really about to bulldoze his way into conversation with a man of such esteem?

Arms waving wildly, it took a good deal of gravel beneath his claws for the young fool to come to a stop in the middle of the decline; hands raising to rub across his hair in a muted display of internal debate.

On one paw, it was one of the few times he’d found the opportunity to see the man everyone talked about, he could ask him about advice, or contacts, or maybe he needed an escort for his deliveries to…wherever it was he was to head next - that would be fantastic!

Crouching slightly and motioning at nothing in particular, the thought continued with a pantomime of sorting unspoken strings of a single-sided conversation.

On the other, Sir Rosfield was a busy man who likely had far more responsibilities than answer questions of a no-name moogle, maybe it would even be offensive to approach without prompting? Was that a thing to Hyur…

Talons against solid ground served as an alarm to the potential departure of this wrangled opportunity. Tail raised high with feline ears flicking just as quickly, Ji Ji gave a shout without thinking, bolting forward down the rest of the hill with nary a moment to stop his momentum - the thinning crowd parting as the youth ran onward, his eyes closed as his lungs (flying was so much less effort!) started to complain.

“Wait! Sir, I have a questi-”

Jolted from his words, the small statured Miqo’te found himself stopped dead, tumbling back from the larger body of the man he had worried to embarrass, a quiet noise with a disgruntled hum rising in his throat at landing on his tail-pom - but saved any scrapes by the fluffy end regardless.

Ji Ji’s ears lay flat to hide in equally white hair as he shook the daze from his thoughts before looking up to the lord - shadowed from the sun in such a way he could only blink in a child’s awe.

Sir Elwin Rosfield, a well known soul who helped those in need, charitable and honourable with more than a few stories from older adventurers who spoke well into the night of high tales paired with bright experiences.

Here, as the glamored moogle looked up at him, crossing pawed feet to hold his ankles, starry freckles moved with a wide eyed smile. He looked so…

“...Cool” Kupo.

#[I hope this is okay for a starter! I apologize for taking some liberties to facilitate introductions!!!]#[Meet Your Heroes Kupo!]#phoenix-flamed [FF14 Verse]

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th3w00ds · 1 year ago

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-To Let Go Ego Angst-

Pt. 3: Do You See Any Worth?

Fandom(s): YouTuber Egos

Trigger Warnings (if any): Character death, general angstiness

Link to Pt. 1: I Can't Ignore the Bends and Cracks Link to Pt. 2: You Share My Name, For Worse or For Better

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

The minute Nate left, all hell broke loose. From the ego’s perspective, anyway. Nate had no idea of what was going on in the ego’s residence.

Natelight collapsed to the floor a couple minutes after Nate departed, shaking and crying. It felt as if his very essence was slowly being ripped out - nothing he had ever felt compared to this. It was so excruciating that Natelight had revealed his wings, which he usually kept hidden. Their warm glow of light was flickering, and they were spasming, flapping without his input.

Natpai, Sharper, and Skelly immediately rushed to Natelight’s side.

“Is- Is he-?” Natpai stuttered out, the student then getting interrupted.

“Fading? Looks like it,” Sharper replied, finishing Natpai’s sentence for him. He began to try to speak to Natelight, to calm the screaming ego down. “Light? Listen to me, it’ll be fine, it’ll be okay, just try to fight this,”

Skelly looked up to the other egos in the room, a mix of shock and fear on his face. “What do we do?!”

It took a moment of thinking for anyone to answer. Natelight didn’t stop screaming, nor did he stop sobbing.

“I-IT HURTS! PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!!” He shouted, wings spasming more. That caused one of them to speak.

“I don’t know if there’s anything we can do. We can only exist if enough fans know of us, and for Light, that number is small. He was in the starting stage of Fading when Nate got here, even. Now, with Nate gone, we... we might have to except the fact that Natelight isn’t going to make it,” Phantom said. He was still emotional, but was trying to hide it behind a mask of calm, like always.

Phantom knew that if he broke under these circumstances, everyone would. He was one of Nate’s strongest egos, and if the others saw him break... well. No hope would be left.

“So you propose we just let him Fade?! No way, Phantom, absolutely not!” Sharper yelled, the emotions he was feeling overtaking the need to calm Natelight. “M-Maybe one of us has healing powers! Maybe that could fix it, or at least slow it down a little!” He rose his voice again. The cyborg’s voice broke, wavering. The idea that one of the egos in this house had healing powers strong enough to heal a Fading ego was impossible.

A false hope.

No ego with healing abilities could do such a thing. To every ego’s current knowledge, Fading could not be stopped once it began.

“Sharper. Let’s see, who here could have healing powers? A crossroads demon, a siren, a cyborg, five humans, although they do have some abilities, two revenants, two incubi, one vampire, a kenku, a dice devil, and an angel, who is currently Fading!” Phantom replied back. “Natelight is the only one here who has any sort of healing power, and he’s FADING!” He shouted the last word at Sharper. “He can’t heal anyone right now, much less himself! Look at him!” Phantom said, his voice rising with frustration, pointing at Natelight.

Natelight wasn’t doing better. He continued to scream and cry, the glow of his wings nearly gone. “NO! NO NO NO NO NO! I-I DON’T WANT TO DIE!!” Natelight shouted, now attempting to get up. The angel fell instantly, grimacing as he did. His body was growing weaker fast, as he was Fading quickly.

“Light, listen to me! J-Just hang on, okay?!” Sharper said to Natelight, grabbing him to stop his fall to the floor. Natpai and Skelly still looked on, frozen in concern for their brother. Natelight’s breathing became shallower, and his movements slowed down. There was barely any glow to his wings.

“NO! LIGHT, FIGHT IT!” Sharper shouted at the Fading ego.

“I.. I’m sorry, I can’t..” Natelight mumbled, his eyes struggling to stay open. The pain was still there, but it was lessening. He just wanted it to end. That pain that was in every single part of his body, feeling like it was burning away at his life force. It hurt. So much. But now, that it was starting to leave him? Natelight wanted it to be fully gone. No matter what happened to him, he wanted, no - needed it to STOP HURTING. The glow of his wings slowly dimmed, eventually turning to no glow at all.

His breathing stopped.

Sharper, Natpai and Skelly stood for a moment, shocked. Natpai started to sob, Skelly just stared at Natelight’s lifeless corpse, and Sharper? Sharper slowly put down Natelight’s body, and then he grabbed a nearby glass vase and chucked it to the other side of the room. The glass broke, ringing around the silent room.

“DAMN IT!” Was Sharper’s response, tears starting to stream down his face. “WHY?! WHY LIGHT?! LIGHT DIDN’T DESERVE TO FADE!! HE DID NOTHING TO DESERVE THAT HAPPENING TO HIM!!!”

Phantom looked at Natelight’s body, and then at the other three egos in the room. He decided to leave Sharper in his grief, it was best for him to get his emotions out. But, he needed to be alone for a while. Phantom needed to grieve Natelight himself.

He said nothing as he walked away to his office.

#natewantstobattle #nwtb #nathan sharp #natewantstobtl #natewantstobattle egos #nwtb egos #to let go #phantom nwtb #skelly nwtb #sharper nwtb #natpai nwtb #to let go angst

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gooeykit · 8 months ago

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tell me more about sotto!!!! (still working on drawing them!!!)

Sotto's sooooooooo-tto awesome

they're based on Roxas [but specifically just the intro of KH2 before Sora comes out] and a dream I had. They kickstarted the story that they're in, so they're very important to me! Sotto is the type of person to speak little but know a lot about others, they're humble and modest but don't exist without excitement at the same time. Because of this, they're the team strategist, though relies on Emcee for relaying info and on KillJoy for fully assessing combat strategies.

They have a deep love for all things involving time, so they collect clocks and metronomes, though their understanding of time leads them to not really need them. Sotto is constantly counting and is able to keep track of multiple count downs at once and challenges themself to just count higher than before. They also have a favorite countdown which coincidentally ends when they die. Emcee fixates on multiples of 2, so they both have a bonding point over numbers.

Sotto also likes bugs, specifically earwigs, and has a hobby in insect taxidermy. Their back tattoo [partially visible] are earwig wings, the nipple peircings are male cerci and the naval is female cerci. Their favorite plant is an almond tree and 2nd favorite is grapevine or moonseed.

Sotto's a very sexually active person and has slept with everyone in their posse. To them it's something to do for fun as well as a social activity. It's not uncommon for them to go bar hopping when bored just trying to score a date. ⬇ character in blue belongs to @oyesteryells ⬇ and is not canon 2 the universe...

storywise... they're the catalyst. The planet theyre on is a living arena where each death adds to the zygote inside, and spirits are recycled into what are essentially just mindless videogame enemies 4 the most part, though they can also be recycled into sapient beings on the level of natural life to small scale deities. Sotto sacrifices themself with the goal of removing their home from the arena structure, which causes time to locally stop. Theres no more aging, but people are safe. unfortunately, Sotto's sacrifice is not death and is to be eternally forgotten and being tasks with protecting the seal which keeps time stopped. The other galdiators of the island, which is Sotto's posse, are tasked with resuming time which takes like months worth of attempts to defeat Sotto who they can't remember having fought before. Upon their defeat and the seal being broken, due to being eternally forgotten, the curse is not reimbursed. Sotto doesn't blame them, and continues to fight by their side despite their invisibility, which ends up being their death. Sotto's hit by falling debris and concussed, which over time leads them to having slower and less articulate movement, which as someone who relies on dexterity is a death sentence. Being unable to move out of the way of a polearm, they're pinned to a wall and bleed to death. In the afterlife, they discover the living planet and the system which feeds it. Still being invisible, they use the mechanic to come back as a revenant to try and kill the deity level forms which support it, but end up killed once more by their posse [which do so by tracking the deadnoise they create]. The deity shrine they were present at as their revenant self was killed happened to be the one which cursed them originally and takes a chance on reimbursing something it'd tracked as being recent. It's too late, but each memory of them is restored and things they were present for after being cursed are updated to have them involved once more.

Sotto is permanently dead in spirit, but ends up like permanently remembered and starts the bulk of the story being about 'oh we have to kill the planet'. That said, they die for the last time feeling unforgiving hatred lol

#iiii dont want this one shared because its like. very personal 2 me and i dont want too many people to see it and take certian things that #i feel make it unique #gooeymail #OC:Sotto #lor-e-lai

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sucker-for-shifters · 19 days ago

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what would ur ocs look like as animals? :3 either furry or feral

Thank you so much for the ask!

I’ll only be doing concepts for now (since life’s been keeping me extremely busy, and I’m not great at drawing furries), but I’ll still label the ones I will be doing art for soon. (College is kicking my ass, and these concepts have taken long enough.) The others will just remain concepts unless I have any specific drive to make their furry versions.

[OCs with Art]

Wynn - He most definitely has dog energy, though specifically what kind was a little bit difficult to get down. I wanted to choose a breed that's perceived as loyal and gentle despite its size, but also can be perceived as threatening from appearance alone. (Mainly adding that last detail because of what Wynn did before he forfeited his first life.)

Hence, I thought that I'd go with a Doberman for him. Looks scary if you don’t know him, but is actually very loving to people he trusts most. Admittedly, due to his undead nature (being a revenant and all), I jokingly thought of him as one of those skeleton animas from Minecraft, though that wouldn't be entirely accurate to his original design. (He still has human-like features from the shoulders up, despite the hole rotted in his cheek.)

~~~

Cen - Frankly, he was a little tougher to nail down. I felt like he had cat-like energy, but at the same time, it didn't seem to fit for him. Since he's a fae/fairy, I wanted to keep the trend of him not being able to use his wings unless absolutely necessary. (So he's less of a cat and more like a bird, but even then, it's hard to pin what kind he'd be.)

After a lot of research, I finally decided on making him a raven, due to being Wynn's source of information in the modern world, not to mention his sharp wit and him being rather blunt at times.

~~~

Spruce - I've gotta thank past research (and an RP) for this idea, because I thought of making him a rabbit. Due to their unique behaviors (especially concerning their habit of humming, squeaking, and growling instead of speaking), I thought that having them as a rabbit would fit best. I wasn’t sure what kind of rabbit I’d make him, but I grew attached to him being a Dutch rabbit.

~~~

Anita - I wanted to slide her in here because she was the first created out of these OCs. She was tricky to do, since I wanted to lean into her survivalist nature and stealth, but I didn’t just want to make her a cat.

It took a while, but I eventually decided on her being a collared lizard. Not only are they mainly carnivores (hunter aspects), but they can also run pretty fast. (Top speeds of 16mph/26kph!) Plus, I thought it’d be cute to have a cold-blooded furry that loves soft fabrics and like items.

~~~

I'll continue onto the ones without art below the cut. Didn't want to leave anyone out!

[OCs without Art]

Fionn - Wolf. No doubt. (I mean, with his kinship/closeness to his companion, I thought of it as one Snow Hound protecting another.) However, in comparison to his companion, I think that Fionn would look a little less threatening, having a bit of a fluffier silver coat with patches of white to simulate his original form's vitiligo. No doubt that his tail would wag like crazy when he gets excited, especially when meeting people like Wynn and Cen.

Aspen - Due to being Fionn's brother, I'm making Aspen some form of wolf as well, though he would appear more tamed in comparison. Not to say that Fionn is wild, but due to being the crown prince, Aspen has to make himself look presentable, which means toning down aspects of himself. His coat would look a bit sleeker, but still have the same silver color with patches of white scattered throughout.

Selene - For Selene, I actually wanted to make her some form of cat, since I though that having her as a cat fit best compared to the other characters I originally thought of as cats. (Also for the fact that despite having dog-like energy in her openness towards others, she tends to do things on her own.)

Hydrangea - Honestly, it was about as tricky to nail down what Hydrangea would be like as it was to nail Cen's down, if not trickier. Due to original Hydrangea being a homunculus, as well as being part-flower due to contamination and almost completely mute, I wanted to come up with something that would simultaneously make it fit in with the other furries in this post and make it stand out. In the end, I decided to make Hydrangea a mouse in order to fit in with the laboratory theme, since “lab mouse/rat”. However, instead of normal fur, each strand is a small flower petal, like its usual form’s hair. It also fits in with its mute nature.

Arden - Although he and Anita are rather similar, I wanted to make them different kinds of furries due to their different personalities and skills. With him being the tinkerer that he is and with his fluffy, cloud-like hair, I kind of thought of him as some kind of squirrel or chipmunk. I would’ve thought of a beaver, but that may be a bit much for him.

#(Will follow up with art in the future.)#g/t #giant/tiny #shifterrambles #shifterocs #from beyond the grave #sfw furry #furry au #wynn #cen #fionn #aspen #spruce #anita #arden #selene #hydrangea

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sister-calliope · 4 months ago

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Others have covered a lot in the comments. In general a lot of the best Sanguinius content is saved for the Siege of Terra. And even then they had to have him out on the sidelines with crippling visions for a book or two probably because he is just so OP that he would’ve won half the battles himself! I do think Black Library was clever because they knew how popular Sanguinius would be, so they wove in his story with so many others that you’d have to read a bunch of other plot lines to get Angel content, and then get hooked on those other characters too.

*cracks knuckles* okey dokey let’s go.

I’d recommend starting with the first Blood Angels book in the Horus Heresy series which is Fear to Tread, although it is told from the perspective of the Legion more than Sanguinius himself, it sets up everything that comes after and explains why he is the way he is afterward.

Sanguinius’s story picks up again with the Imperium Secundus story arc, which starts with The Unremembered Empire. I love that storyline, it’s where you start to get some humor in the storytelling and also see Primarchs up close and acting human instead of at a lofty distance. I do recommend it although Sanguinius shows up only at the end. That book mostly focuses on Guilliman and the Lion on Macragge, and Konrad Curze wreaking havoc.

That storyline continues in Pharos and Angels of Caliban, where we see a lot more of Sanguinius, and get some A+++ interactions between him and his brothers. Ruinstorm finishes out that plotline and features Sanguinius wrestling with the meaning of his future sight and premonitions of his death.

I think his next major appearance is in Titandeath, he comes in with Jaghatai Khan halfway through to coordinate the Loyalist forces on Beta Garmon. I enjoyed this book as it features Legio Solaria, a women-only Titan Legion and their rivalry with another Legion that turned traitor.

The Lost and the Damned, Siege of Terra Book 2, switches between the traitor legions beginning the attack on Terra and the loyalist legions planning/ beginning the defense. Sanguinius gets a lot of screen time in this one. You see some of his inner thoughts, for instance at one point he’s trying to figure out how, logically and scientifically, his wings could possibly work the way they do.

Saturnine, Siege of Terra book 4, is one of my top 5 books of the series, it’s just really good storytelling and great character interactions all around. It’s more focused on Dorn vs Perturabo, and Abaddon, Loken, and other human and Astartes characters, but we do get to see Sanguinius kicking ass and taking names, but also struggling with the visions which are getting more intrusive.

(I would skip Book 3, The First Wall. It’s pretty weak, it’s mostly about human army and militia contingents with all new characters that are hard to care about especially this far into the series. Also Sanguinius isn’t in this one.)

And then we get to Echoes of Eternity (book 7). This is a must read even if you don’t want to slog through the other Siege books, or the Imperium Secundus stuff. Here, we finally, after 60 freakin books, get the story of how Sanguinius met the Emperor, how he met his Legion, and how he “transformed” them from the Revenant legion into the Blood Angels.

Finally, we have the rest of Sanguinius’s story within The End and the Death Vol I and II, which you should read if you’ve come this far. Do I need a spoiler alert for this? No, right? The end we knew was coming is at the end of Vol II. But… then you might as well round it out with Vol III to see how it all ends.

alright 40k tumblr, can anyone point me in the direction of some good sanguinius novels? pieces that give me some really good grip on his character, preferably from his own perspective?

i have finished his primarch novel, the Great Angel, and i really liked it for what it was - a piece from a perceptive outer perspective, but I'd like some more of this.

any cool Sang novels out there?

#horus heresy #Horus heresy novels #sanguinius #primarchs #warhammer 40k #warhammer 30k

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bastardsunlight · 2 years ago

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It was supposed to be a routine exchange — some dirty money for dirty weapons; cold, hard cash for smuggled missile parts and more mundane armament that could just have easily been on the way to some lawless desert to fuel another trivial, forgotten skirmish between armies too small to make headlines…had the deal not been so rudely interrupted.

Sixteen would likely never have been tasked with something so textbook, and indeed, the Left Hand returns from an extended mission — the elimination of a particularly slimy informant, rather than overwatch on an arms exchange.

His debrief takes little of Management’s precious time. The cleanup of what at first seems to be incompetent goons botching a job also takes little time to escalate, however, and the Apex has only just vacated the office to commence his post-mission ritual of gear and weapon cleaning when the field team lead fresh back from the site of the would-be deal (who has also, by the way he is shaking, drawn the short straw in being the one escorted to this particular wing by a certain petite blonde surgeon) arrives. He carries only a small tablet, the first of many blurry body cam photos already on the screen — and slides it slowly onto the desk as if he is trying not to rile a mess of agitated cobras.

“No survivors,” the rattled lieutenant manages hoarsely, his eyes pinned anywhere but on the human-shaped thing behind the desk. Were it not for Leblanc behind him, he might well backpedal out of that room with not a care in the world for his dignity.

Most of the imagery is inconclusive; poor stills pulled from video of a firefight in the dark. But one clip is damning. For a single frame, the side of a truck passing through headlights is clear, and on the side of that truck a small, stenciled red insignia in the form of some sort of animal skull flanked by wings, with crossed lightning bolts between its teeth. Perched on the side of the truck bed, silhouetted against the glare of either fire or other headlights in the background, is a humanoid shape: armored and masked, hanging onto the truck by one hand on the mounted gun. The other is leveling what appears to be a large shotgun of some sort at a target off-screen.

There is the undeniable boom of shotgun fire in the seconds after this frame, followed by at least two distinct voices screaming in what might be Swahili, and then the point of view of the camera suddenly and violently pitches sideways with a tremendous impact. The camera wearer does not move after this, and the footage cuts off.

“That would be our dealer contact and his bodyguard yelling in the background,” Leblanc comments lightly, “right before something caved his skull in. Do you mind translating, Lieutenant?”

The wiry man wishing for all the world he was at his own desk instead of this one fixes his stare upon some point on the desktop.

“He said, ‘fisi, fisi’.” He swallows hard. “It means ‘hyena’.”

“And the other one? What is he saying?”

“Red-eyed devil.”

Leblanc meets Wesker’s gaze with a pointed expression of something indeterminate, and only now moves to the side of the room, around their exceedingly uncomfortable guest.

“Leave the tablet.”

With a slight nod of his head, Management dismisses the lieutenant. He doesn’t have to tell the man to shut the door on his way out; that is a given. Rewinding the footage, he stops it, enhancing the frame that displays a blurry version of the logo they’ve come to recognize as that of Revenant. Like the name suggests, the group is damn near a ghost, but the upper echelon of Wesker’s cadre knows.

“So she returns… and in greater strength, it seems,” he comments, his tone dispassionate, almost offhanded, as if it’s merely an observation and not a detriment to their operations in that area of the world—or any area, as Revenant seems to be extremely mobile.

“I’d like someone inside,” he continues, pushing the tablet away with fingertips as if it disgusts him. Gaudy, he thinks, how very… Apex. I wonder if they realize. “I think the next outing should include some… rather damning evidence—a hint about what remains of the Paris facility.”

Pulling another tablet out of a desk drawer, he powers it up and begins skimming data. Name after name slides up the screen, all color coded and given various labels. He stops at L.

“Lancaster,” he purrs, reading the file. The label on the name, V. Lancaster, is “DECEASED*”. “Nineteen.”

“Master…?” Her sycophantic purr resounds from the adjacent, small “war room” attached to Management’s office.

“I have a job for you, my dear…”

#response #vehxmence #management #redmantis

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khianavy · 4 years ago

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I Have A Thing For Fran And Crossbows

#final fantasy xii #final fantasy 12 #final fantasy #fran #fran (final fantasy xii)#ff12 #ffxii #ff #ive just beaten yiazmat by being cheap and zoning in and out to heal lol #im running out things to do in game but im not ready to part with it #trial mode isnt really my thing #so i just continued on with revenant wings #and i liked it #anyways i tried making her metal lingerie not lose details

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ladyofvoss · 2 years ago

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FFXIVWrite Day 6: Onerous

adjective - (of a task, duty, or responsibility) involving an amount of effort and difficulty that is oppressively burdensome.

A/N: Have a naughty chocobo as a treat!

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

“You are being impossible”, Thalia said, hands on her hips and hoping that her stare was conveying a strong sense of disappointment.

Fuyu, her chocobo, squawked in what Thalia assumed was obstinance, stamping its feet on the stones in Vesper Bay, before crouching down as if it made to bolt. At this rate, the Waking Sands would be completely empty, and everyone would have settled down in Mor Dhona before Thalia could wrangle her bird into letting them even leave the bay.

“We’re not even traveling that far!”

She made to attach one of her many full saddlebags to his hide, only for him to screech angrily, flailing its wings and bolting behind her faster than she thought possible. Growling, Thalia pivoted on her foot, hoping to catch the feathered fiend off guard, but he scurried out of the way once more. Thus, their little dance went on, longer than Thalia would have liked.

She was certain they made quite the picture, the esteemed Warrior of Light losing a battle......with a chocobo.

“You have never acted like this when we traveled before, not even when we mucked about in the Sagoli desert, and you hated it there”.

The response she got was a demure kwuee, before Fuyu crouched low, hiding his head beneath his wing.

“Nald’s golden-”, she pinched her nose and drew in a breath, long and deep. She’s had Fuyu for years, and was used to his moods by now. It wouldn’t do to snap at him (anymore than she already had), lest he become even more capricious.

“I’m sorry”, she sighed, dropping down to her knees and rubbing at his neck. “I know this must all be happening so suddenly, going to a new and unfamiliar place. We’ve been here our whole lives. I understand if you’re reluctant to leave”.

Her gesture seemed to have reached him, as Fuyu pulled his head from beneath his wing, pressing it against Thalia’s side and rubbing at her hip. Relief swept through her. Progress.

“It’ll probably be very scary for you”, she continued, “but I’ll be here the entire time. I promise. Perhaps we can even wait until-”.

She cut her words short when she felt his beak moving against her hip.

“Are you still grumpy? I thought we talked about nipping, it’s not nice”.

She shifted in hopes of pulling away from his beak, only to realize that it was not her clothes Fuyu was nipping at, but the bag she had been holding that she set on the ground. He twisted his head, nipped twice more, before withdrawing with his prize: a Krakka Root firmly in his beak, before vanishing as he proceeded to swallow.

The realization hit her then, along with a new wave of indignation. Fuyu paid no heed to his mistress’ change in mood, trotting over to Vesper Bay’s entrance, suddenly very cooperative and in better spirits.

“Why you little-!”, Thalia shot to her feet, marching over to the chocobo. “You mean to tell me you put me through this arduous ordeal, just because I hadn’t given you your favorite treat yet!?”

Fuyu simply squawked happily.

“You”, she rubbed her temples and groaned. “You are a walking Calamity; I hope you know that. I ought to turn you into pillow stuffing, you little brat”.

But Fuyu was intent on pretending his little tantrum never occurred, and given that the others were likely waiting for her, Thalia could not take the time to give him the dressing down he deserved.

“Oh, you are in for it when we reach Revenant’s Toll”, she said as she swung onto him, Fuyu being remarkably still giving no end to her irritation. For now, Mor Dhona awaited them.

#FFxivWrite2022 #ffxiv writing challenge #prompt 6: onerous #writing tag

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eirikaanemo · 3 years ago

Text

His Fight

Venti x GN!Reader

1.9 Words

Warnings: Frostbite, assault (not sexual), near death experience

Part 1: His Lyre

His kiss to your cheek was quick but sent a warmth blooming across your face, contrasting with the coolness of his lips.

“Of course,” you mumble, embarrassed. “It was your lyre anyway.”

“It was,” he agreed. “But you believed me. And that really does mean a lot to me. Thank you, really.”

“I’ve always believed you, Venti,” you tell him softly, “both Venti and Barbatos. I believe in you. Even if you didn’t bring the lyre back in one piece, you brought yourself back. And I know you tried your best. You always do, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Venti chuckles out a nervous, “ehe~” and rubs the back of his head sheepishly. He doesn’t try to hide the blush dusting his cheeks at your sincere words. “I’m not sure I deserve that, but thank you anyway.”

The two of you stand in silence for a little while after that. It’s not uncomfortable silence though. There’s a pleasant and kind of tingly feeling warming you from head to toe. Venti’s humming a little song and staring thoughtfully out into the distance; and you’re working up the courage to try and hold his hand.

Then your eyes accidentally meet the Traveler’s. Thankfully they seem to have been busy with Paimon while you and Venti were talking, so things aren’t as awkward as they could have been. They’re still kind of a third wheel though, and you’ve done that enough times to know how awkward it is.

Both of your eyes are caught by movement to the right of Traveler. Venti’s still oblivious, but it was enough of a tell for Traveler to be ready when two fatui pyro agents burst out of the brush. They drew their sword and stood their ground despite being outnumbered. Knife met sword as they exchanged blows.

While the fight attracted Venti’s attention, you took the chance to scan the area. It was uncommon for fatui agents to attack like this. Especially in a public area like the cathedral, and… there!

You push Venti out of the way just in time for the blast of ice to miss him, though it hits you dead on. The strength of it had both knocked you off your feet and frozen you solidly to the ground. Squirming some to test your cryo prison, you found an arm and both your legs to be solidly frozen to the ground. A hiss leaves your mouth as the cold starts to seep through your clothes and all the way down to your bones. Frostbite.

A sultry chuckle escapes your attacker as she approaches the two of you, with two cicin mages at her heels. “How touching,” she coos. “You sacrificed yourself for his sake.” She comes to a stop a couple feet away. Venti has very carefully not tensed up, pretending to not be affected, but you can see the wary look in his eyes.

Glancing over at Traveler, your heart falls. They’re still being held up by the pyro fatui agents. There will be no help from them.

She turns to Venti and smirks. “At last, Mondstadt’s rodent ruler in the flesh.” Step by step she draws nearer. “Scurrying through the streets, looking for leftovers.” She passes you, not giving you a second glance. Tilting her head, she quirks an eyebrow and gestures at Venti. “Mondstadt calls this a god?”

Oh she did not just go there.

You may be stuck in ice, and it may be slowly freezing you, but you’re not helpless. Your anemo vision is a weight against your chest. Most may choose to flaunt their visions, but you choose to wear it like a pendant but under your shirt. It may garner less respect, but it also garners less attention. Which is really helpful in situations like this.

The first thing you have to do is take out those cicin mages. With slight hand movements you slowly steal the air out of their lungs- and keep it there. If you’re careful enough, and you are, you can knock them out without them making a sound.

While waiting for them to drop, you keep an eye on Venti and the lady’s exchange.

��Resident rodent beats invasive vermin,” Venti quips.

The lady’s face darkens with rage. “Don’t you dare speak back to me, insolent bard.” She responds, stretching out her arm and summoning a gust in another attempt to freeze him. Crossing his arms, Venti launches himself into the air to avoid it. In return, he reaches for his lyre, which transforms into a bow, and he lets a volley of anemo arrows fly.

She easily knocks each one aside with a volley of ice crystals. “Look at you, absentee archon of Mondstadt… how impotent you have become.” Another barrage of ice rushes towards him with another gesture from the lady.

Venti easily knocked them off course with a blast of wind. “That smirk of yours looks out of place. Did you steal it from your master’s face?”

At that moment you realized three things. The cicin mages are knocked out so you should probably let them go before you kill them. The lady just got angrier than before. Not good. And you’re losing feeling in your legs. That’s definitely not good.

You let out a quiet sound of pain as the pins and needles reach further up your chest towards your neck. The moment he hears that noise, Venti’s attention snaps to you. He freezes. Your lips are blue and your skin is growing pale. He has to do something, fast.

“Cicin mages, attack!” The lady commands, trying to take advantage of his distraction. When nothing happens she turns around to find them where you left them on the ground. A growl escapes her throat as she turns on you.

“I thought that was enough to keep you down and out of the fight,” she said darkly. “Apparently I was wrong. I suppose I’ll need to put you down permanently.” Grabbing a dagger of ice out of thin air, she went for the throat.

“Hey, keep your eyes on me!” Venti calls. “This is my fight!” A flash of turquoise light lit up the area, blinding her and giving her pause. Immediately Venti was at your side, melting the dagger with the warm west wind and pushing the lady away. He donned whites and golds now instead of greens and browns. Feathery wings stretched out behind him. Before you stood the anemo archon, Barbatos. And he was angry.

“How dare you,” he hissed. “How dare you attack them! Leave now, before I truly lose my temper. I do not delight in bloodshed, but blood will be shed if you continue. Begone. And tell Tsaritsa that she had best watch herself. I may not be as powerful as she thinks I ought to be, but I am powerful enough to protect myself and my city.”

And with that, beaten but spiteful, the lady left. “Vanessa,” he spoke. “Would you make sure she leaves? We wouldn’t want her to get… lost.” A hawks cry echoed through the plains as she accepted his request. After all, this was her land too and Venti is her friend.

With that taken care of, all of Venti’s attention is on you.

Usually this would be a good thing, but this attention is because you’re turning blue and starting to lose feeling in your chest. He melts the ice and sweeps you into an embrace, wrapping his wings around you, partly for comfort and partly for warmth. “Thank celestia you’re okay,” he murmured. “I don’t know what I would have done without you. And I’m so glad I haven’t lost you like I did my friend all those years ago.”

You hum wordlessly in response and huddle closer to the warmth he provided. “I’m glad you’re okay too,” you whisper quietly.

Then Venti looks up. The flash of his transformation drew quite the crowd. But, most importantly, it drew Barbara out of the Cathedral.

“Barbara, I am not able to fully heal them myself. The frostbite has gotten too far. Would you kindly lend your assistance?”

“Of course, Lord Barbatos!” She exclaimed, hurrying forward to help heal you.

“Venti, Barabra,” he gently chastised. “I may be Barbatos, but I far prefer to go by Venti.”

“Venti it is then,” she concluded. “I… I believe we owe both of you an apology,” she admits as she focuses more on healing you. “You were telling the truth the whole time, Venti. And they were the only one to believe you. And we can see how that turned out.” She lets out a sigh as she pulls her hands away. “That should do it. How do you feel?”

“I’m still a little cold, but I’ll be okay,” you inform her. Venti holds you a little closer in response. Your skin is still a shade paler than it should be and you’re shaking with cold. But you can feel even your toes and fingers again. Everything will be okay in time.

Over the next few days as you recover, the news of Barbatos’ reappearance and his true identity spread throughout the town. While Venti’s power and ability grew significantly, the revenant and awed looks he received in public made him uncomfortable. Things did get better but it took a while.

“Do you regret doing it?” You asked him one night.

“Revealing my identity as Barbatos? Kind of,” he confessed. “But saving your life? Never. And there wasn’t another way I could have done it. My form as Venti is not able to wield as much power as I can in my winged form. Without revealing myself, I would not have been able to save you. So no, I don’t really regret it. I never could.”

You snuggle closer to him on the couch and entwine one of your hands with his. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Anytime,” he responds back, just as quietly. He gently squeezes your hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve just brought such a bright light into my life since I met you. I’m not sure I could handle the dark anymore.”

You feel your face flush with warmth and he laughs a little in response. “Aww, did I fluster you?” He teases, poking at your cheek. You groan and let go of his hand to bury your face in your hands. He frowns a little. “How now, you don’t need to hide.”

When you peak out from your hands he gives you a wide smile. “See? It’s just me. It’s okay!”

As soon as your hands are away from your face he reaches forward to cup the side of your face. “Hey,” he says softly as he looks into your eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you breathe back. And just like that, his lips are on yours. It lasts an eternity and is over in a second as he pulls away. Now he’s the one who’s shy, looking away from you with pink dusting his cheeks. “Was that, um- Was that okay?”

“Hmm,” you ponder. “I don’t know. You may need to try again.”

Surprised, his head snaps back to face you. “Really?” He squeaks a little too quickly.

“Really,” you confirm, tugging on his braids to bring him back in for another kiss.

Neither of you are sure how long you spent kissing on the couch, but both of you will remember this moment fondly for the rest of your lives.

#eirika writes #venti #genshin venti #venti x reader #genshin impact x reader

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