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raewritez · 3 years ago

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for the want of the sun | chapter eight: zuko does not have it handled

The days following our escape from Zhao’s fortress were calm and uneventful. Any other time I might’ve thought they were boring, but a break from the constant chaos was much appreciated. With no new sighting of the Avatar, we’d been sailing for a few days, thankfully back in Earth Kingdom territory. My skin was mostly healed from where I’d been stuck, and I spent my first day back eating as much food as I could get my hands on. Iroh had happily obliged me, making me tea and asking the cook to make my favorite: roast chicken.

I sit now with Iroh and Zuko, eating lunch. The ocean rolls by the windows, dancing with waves and sparkling with sunlight. Iroh pours us tea - jasmine - and sits down beside me. He raises his glass to his lips, drinking and sighing contentedly.

“See, Prince Zuko, a moment of quiet is good for your well being.” He nods at the cup in front of him.

Zuko looks down and reaches for the cup, going to take a sip. Just as it reaches his mouth the ship jerks, and it spills all over his uniform. I stifle a laugh.

“Argh!” He yells, droplets falling from his hands. His ponytail is wet, and it sticks to his forehead. He stands up, walking out of the room to investigate the commotion. Iroh and I follow him when there is a shout from above.

“Ah! Look out!”

We run onto the deck, where a giant rat-looking thing is sniffing around.

“Woah!” I exclaim, backing away.

Then, from atop the animal a woman speaks, holding a whip. “Get back!” She yells. “We’re after a stowaway.” I stare at her. Woah.

Zuko steps closer to her. “There are no stowaways on my ship.”

The woman ignores him, steering her animal to the corner of the ship. It sniffs wildly and sticks its nose into a hole and steps inside. Then, a man emerges from below it, and runs onto the deck. The animal is quick, though, and lashes its tongue out towards him. He falls to the ground, still.

“Woah,” I whisper.

Zuko stares, wide-eyed. “He’s paralyzed.”

The woman hops down from the animal, walking over to the man. “Only temporarily,” she says, and she picks him up and slings him over her shoulder. “The toxins will wear off in about an hour. By then, he’ll be in jail and I’ll have my money.”

“But how did you find him on my ship?” Zuko asks. I am still staring.

“My shirshu can smell a rat a continent away.”

Iroh strokes his beard. “Well, I’m impressed,'' he says.

The lady cracks her whip before bolting off atop the shirshu. She runs off along the trail.

“She is so cool,” I whisper. Zuko sends me a look.

—

Later that night, Zuko approaches me and Iroh, who are locked in an intense game of Pai Sho. My brows are pulled together and my hand is shaking as I inspect the pattern he’s made on the board. He grins at me from across the table.

“Uncle! We need to go into town.”

Iroh glances over his shoulder lazily. “Why is that, nephew?”

“I need to find the bounty hunter.” I perk up. “Ooh! The lady with the shirshu? Can I come?”

Zuko looks at me, confused. “Uh, yeah, sure. But we need to leave now.”

I stand up quickly. “You win, Iroh, good game.”

He smiles. “Ah. Thank you. Maybe next time, dear.”

Zuko turns for the door. “Let’s go.”

—-

He leads us into a tavern, running amok with drunkards and men. A body comes flying through the air in front of us, and I yelp, steeping back.

“Out of my way!” Zuko yells, pushing through the crowd. “Step aside, filth!”

“Rude,” I mutter.

“He means no offense!” Iroh shouts apologetically. “I’m sure you bathe regularly!”

I follow Zuko through the throng, and we walk towards a table set in the middle of the room. Sitting there is the bounty hunter, arm wrestling with a very muscular man. Zuko approaches her.

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

She barely spares him a glance. “Well, if it isn’t my new friends. Angry Boy and Uncle Lazy…” her eyes drift to me. “You’re new. You with them?”

I nod, cheeks warming alarmingly. “I’m Y/n,” I say.

“Nice.” She turns back to the man she is wrestling with, whose face is red and beaded with sweat. She doesn’t seem bothered. She pushes his arm down easily, slamming it against the table.

“Your beast trashed my ship,” Zuko says. “You have to pay me back!” The lady collects her winnings from the table. “Well, I’d love to help you out, but I’m a little short on money.” She calls out to the crowd. “Drinks on me!”

She moves to take a sip of her drink, but Zuko snatches her wrist. “Money isn’t what I had in mind,” he growls. He fishes something out from his pocket: a necklace, by the looks of it, decorated with a blue stone. “I need you to find someone.”

She raises her brows and tilts her head, shrugging and nodding. Zuko starts walking outside and she stands up to follow him, and Iroh and I walk behind. When we get outside I see her shirshu: a large, light-colored animal with an extremely large nose. The lady moves to lean on it.

“What happened, your girlfriend run off on you?”

Zuko shakes his head. “It’s not the girl I’m after, it’s the monk she’s traveling with.”

She hums. “Whatever you say.”

“If you find them, I’ll consider the damage to my ship paid for.”

She scoffs. “Heh, forget it.” She pulls herself onto the shirshu and begins to climb her saddle.

“Plus,” Iroh chips in, “We’ll pay your weight in gold.” She turns around, eyes wide. Then, her features relax into a drawling smile.

“Make it -” she reaches to poke Iroh’s stomach. “Your weight, and we got a deal.”

Iroh laughs. “You got it!”

She slides onto the back of the shirshu, and gestures for the three of us. “Get on!”

I look to Zuko excitedly. He climbs up first and I follow, and Iroh behind me. Zuko hands her the necklace, and she holds it in front of the animal’s nose. “Good girl, Nyla,” she coos. She sends us one last look, “Name’s June by the way,” and we lurch forward.

“Woah!” I exclaim, and reach forward to wrap my arms around Zuko. He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes. It’s incredibly bumpy, and Iroh almost falls off the back a couple of times. We turn and twist through the trees, and Nyla sniffs wildly. In front of me, Zuko is glowering.

“He’s not getting away from me this time,” he mutters.

I love your confidence, Zuko.

—

We arrive in a small abbey: brown cobblestone and grey buildings all lined up in a circle. Before, we took a pit stop at a village farther north, where a lady had offered to read our fortunes. I really wanted to, but Zuko said we had to go.

“We’re getting close,” June says, and she cracks her whip again. Nyla runs out of the gates, and I lean my head on Zuko’s back. Who knew riding a shirshu could be so tiring?

We run into the forest on a dirt path surrounded by trees and foliage. It is a few minutes before we reach a hill, and Nyla starts running faster. Then, she hops down from the ledge and into a road, where we come face to face with the familiar Water Tribe siblings. They yell, backing away. I notice that Aang isn’t with them.

“So this is your girlfriend,” June says. Zuko groans.

He hops down from the saddle and walks towards them. “Where is he?” He asks. “Where’s the Avatar?”

Sokka glares at him. “We split up,” he says. “He’s long gone.”

Zuko glowers. “How stupid do you think I am?”

Sokka smirks. “Pretty stupid,” he responds, and his eyes meet with mine. They widen momentarily, and he seems surprised. I send him an awkward salute. Then, he turns back to his sister. “Run!”

They sprint off, at least try to, before they are struck down by the shirshu’s tongue. I cringe as they thud to the ground, and send Iroh a look. He shrugs.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Zuko asks.

Nyla creeps closer to the siblings. “It’s seeking a different scent,” June says. “Perhaps something that the Avatar held.”

Then, she starts sniffing frantically, nose pointing in the direction we’d come from. June nods in thought. “Hop on,” she says. She picks up Katara and Sokka from the ground, slinging them over the back of the saddle. Iroh moves to the front, closest to her, followed by Zuko, and then me, leaving me right next to our hostages.

I look back at them, not exactly knowing what to do. “Hey,” I say. Katara just glares at me, and Sokka sends me a disbelieving look. Yeah, about what I’d expect.

“Y/n,” Zuko speaks from in front of me. “Stay focused.”

“I am focused!” I protest. “Don’t make friends with them.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

We reach the abbey that we came across earlier, bursting through the gates.Sokka and Katara hang limply behind me. Nyla walks to the center of the area, circling.

“What’s it doing?” Zuko demands. “It’s just going in a circle.”

I watch her closely, looking for whatever she was smelling. Then, her head turns to the sky, and I see Aang flying down on his glider. Nyla rears in an attempt to lick him, and we fall back onto the ground.

Katara looks up, her head angled awkwardly, but she’s beaming. “Aang!” She exclaims.

Aang flies around and lands in front of the shirshu, who is still recovering from her fall. She stands, poised to run at Aang, before being whacked to the side by Appa, who comes running in. He growls, air shooting out of his nostrils.

June stares, eyes wide. “What is that?”

I smile. “That’s Aang’s flying bison, Appa!” She sends me a weird look, and I glance away.

Zuko stands in front of Aang, fists smoking. He breathes in, and shoots a blast of fire at him, which he returns with his own gust of air. They circle around each other while I watch from the ground - Zuko firing while Aang ducks to avoid him. Then, they come at each other at the same time: Zuko with flames at his palms and Aang with air, and it creates a dark cloud of smoke. They both go flying back, into the opposite roofs of the surrounding shops. I run to Zuko, who slides to the ground. He groans, and I shake his shoulders.

“Hey, Zuko, you ok?”

He pries his eyes open, squinting. “...Y/n?” He whispers. “Yeah?” I respond. Then he sits up, and falls back.

“Yeah…you’re definitely hurt,” I say, moving to push him back down. But he brushes me off, standing wobbily, and moving to climb back up to the rooftop. I cross my arms. “Zuko. What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he growls. “I have it handled.” He’s a bit shaky, and I think he may have a concussion. But he pushes himself up, and begins to run at Aang with fingers ablaze. I shake my head, but I hear Aang’s scream. Zuko fires at him, but he’s a bit less precise than usual - not that precision is exactly his strong suit. Aang pushes him back with a gust of air, and he falls back against the side of the building that rests above the cobbled roof. He grabs his head before glaring, and I pinch my nose.

In the background, Nyla and Appa are having a bit of a showdown: running at each other and fighting in a mess of tongues and furry paws. June sits atop of the shirshu, only to be knocked down by Appa’s tail and almost crushed underneath him.

Aang and Zuko leap to the ground, battling in the courtyard. There’s not really much I can do to help any of these people, so I opt to sit on a bench and observe. The blue necklace dangles from Zuko’s wrist, and Aang sends him an angry look.

“You’ve got something that I want,” he says.

Zuko’s arm goes out to strike and Aang knocks it away, and the necklace goes flying. Aang jumps up and grabs it, before falling head first into the well that sits in the center of the abbey. Zuko stands on the rim and fires downwards. Then, water spurts from beneath him, knocking him back, and Aang lands gracefully on the ground. To be fair, he kinda deserved that.

Zuko gets back up, and I have to be impressed by his persistence. Any onlooker would never guess that this fight had been going on for way too long, or that Zuko probably had a concussion. I stay on my bench, and I yawn. June, from across the courtyard, whips Nyla so that she licks Appa with her incredibly long tongue. Appa stands firm, but after several licks he falls to the ground. Poor guy.

I guess I zoned out, because I don’t realize that Sokka and Katara have recovered until I see them pouring urns of perfume onto the floor. The intense smell of flowers fills the air, and I cringe at its sickly sweetness. Katara stands in the flood and raises her arms, lifting the perfume in a wave and sending it towards Nyla. Nyla, who had been sniffing for Aang, begins shaking her head and walking around frantically. In her panic, she shoots her tongue out towards Zuko, who yelps and falls to the floor. Iroh is next, and then June herself. Nyla is still going crazy, and she leaps over the abbey walls. I watch with wide eyes, and see Aang reunite with his friends before they all hop aboard Appa, who has since stood up.

They fly off, and I sigh. That went well. I walk over to my three friends, who lay still on the ground. I stand above them, and I can’t help but chuckle.

Zuko glares. “Well? Aren’t you going to help us?”

I grin. “I don’t know, I thought you had it handled?”

Iroh snickers, and Zuko groans. “Shut up. Just help me up, ok?”

“Ok, ok.”

Nyla meanders her way back, and I sling the three of them over her saddle, rather ungracefully. Iroh is the hardest, and I end up making Nyla lay down so I can barrel-roll him onto her, pushing him from the ground. I hop on, and I try to contain my excitement.

“So, uh, June. How does this thing work?”

She groans. “This is not going to end well,” I hear her mutter. “Alright, fangirl, just…grab the reins and steer. She’ll find her way back.”

“Sounds good,” I say, and I bring the reins down hard. Nyla lurches forward immediately, and I hear three sets of yells from behind me.

It’s about a two hour ride home, and an hour before the toxins wear off. As soon as they do, June snatches the reins from my hands. She looks thoroughly unimpressed, but I smile. Zuko glares at me as I walk to the back of the shirshu.

“Did you really have to go so fast?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re in the back.”

I get ready to climb on, but Zuko offers his spot in the front seat to Iroh. He happily agrees, moving to the more comfortable part of the saddle. Then Zuko sits, and gestures for me to get on. I do, and I wrap my arms around so as not to fall off. I notice that he doesn’t tense this time.

a/n: Iroh’s rlly creepy in this episode so i cut that out :) also June is 👌 anyway i hope you all are enjoying the story so far! reminder that you can also read it on wattpad. ily all have a great day/night

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james-stark-the-writer · 9 months ago

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got soooooooo much done since last update! on sunday after the last update, i explored the area after Shaded Woods whose name i can't remember rn, did Najka first try with Manscorpion summon for the weapon he gives, explored some of Doors of Pharros before taking a break and yeah it was the chest that did me in though thankfully i saw it after lighting the bonfire. then yesterday i decided to keep going down the Doors of Pharros path (beat the Royal Rat Authority second try bc i healed at the wrong time and a jump back and a swipe got me) and got a little bit into Brightsone Cove Tseldora (did the Benhart summon for Prowling Magus for his quest and stopped at the bonfire after them). today, i finished off Brightstone Cove Tseldora (i fucking hate the casters there so much, genuinely some of the most annoying enemy placement in this, even if you have ranged options like i did bc of spells and arrows, but anyway, i ended up changing my weapons of choice so instead of the Heide Knight Sword and pyromancy flame and a chime, now i run a dual thrusting sword build with Richard's Rapier at +7 and standard Rapier at +7 as well, along with pyromancy flame and the chime and a lightning short bow and the magic mace just in case of crystal lizards, although idk if i'm actually done with the area bc i didn't find a way to access the bonfire next to Ornifex which would've made the area like 10 times easier bc the casters would be so fucking easy to avoid when you're already down there, also i traded a bunch of boss souls for the unique weapons), did Creighton's quest and beat Pate's ass, beat Duke's Dear Freja first try with the charcoal pine resin on the Rapier bc i wanted to use a resin on a boss for once and i looked up what weakness she had, got jumspcared on the primal bonfire by some lava spirit bitch, got told by the emerald herald to go to the shrine of winter (the funny thing was i know you need 1 million soul memory to open the shrine and i already had 1 million soul memory before Prowling Magus and the Congregation bc i never bought the agape ring and i farmed Heide's Tower whenever i needed some quick souls and didn't have any consumables because the enemies there were a consistently good source for souls before Iron Keep but i only farmed like 5 times maybe and only one enemy stopped respawning, but anyway, most of what i did today was entirely optional lol) and then went back to Tark for the DS2 version of the FAP ring, and then teleported to the Shaded Woods to open Shrine of Winter but i think the game's servers got taken offline or something bc i couldn't log back onto them so that's where i'm taking a break for today, i've been playing for like almost 7 hours straight now lmao, this game is so fun but also i almost can't wait to be done with it (don't worry, i had the exact same feeling with DS1 and every other FROM game so far. only didn't get that feeling with Elden Ring bc it was so massive, idk why i always think i'll be done with one of these in under 40 hours lol). hopefully i'm at least 50% done, given it's already been 34 hours of playtime according to steam. anyway, yeah, fun game. having a ton of fun. i cannot imagine how absolutely obnoxious Tseldora's enemy placement must be in Scholar bc it was already fucking insufferable as is.

playing the original Dark Souls 2 again (not Scholar) for the first time in forever, the hormones slider in advanced character creation always kills me. Dark Souls 2 was saying trans rights before any other game in the series.

#james talks #James plays stuff #dark souls 2 #this Dark Souls shit is SOOOOOO easy

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brutal-nemesis · 3 years ago

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E&T: The Price to Pay

Hello welcome back to actually whumping Erebus 💕 I missed his screams

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: tooth whump, noncon body modification, noncon touching (unsexy)

Far too soon, Erebus found himself immobilized and staring up at Zander the rat once again. They’d let him keep his shirt on this time, but that wasn’t exactly reassuring as that made it much more likely that she was going to mess with his face or somewhere else that would be difficult to hide.

That is, if he ever even got the luxury of hiding the thing he was turning into.

Neteri came over, returning his wary gaze with a beaming smile. “How’s my favorite test subject?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m your only test subject.”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love ya.” She ruffled his hair affectionately, and he hated that he was starting to like it when she touched him like that. “And even if I had other ones, you’d still be my favorite.”

“That so.”

“Yeah! You’re just so cute and well-behaved.”

“I-I’m just not stupid. I know fighting doesn’t do me any good. I’m not doing it for you or anything.”

“And that’s perfectly fine, as long as the end result is the same!” She gave his head one final pat before turning and putting her gloves on. “Now, let’s get started. This should be pretty quick and easy since we’re...going to take things a little more slowly. Well okay not slowly but just...sticking to my original plan. Which means starting with the simpler procedures and working our way up. In conclusion, today really won’t be anything too bad.” She patted his cheek. “Open up.”

“I still don’t-ahh.” Erebus was expecting her to gag him again, but he felt his stomach drop when she shoved the rubber block in between his teeth instead. If she wasn’t going to do something to his tongue again, that meant...she wasn’t going to mess with his teeth, was she?

She held up a pair of pliers, confirming his worst fears. His abject terror must have shown on his face, as she gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his hand in her gloved one. “Just two, okay? I’ll be quick, I promise. And it’s either this or I give you a tail, which I assume you don’t want a tail.” Erebus tried to shake his head, because he most certainly did not want a tail, but the strap around his forehead prevented him from moving much. “Uh, thumbs up if you don’t want a tail and thumbs down if-wait no you can’t move your wrist.” She stared into space for a moment before coming to the solution Erebus had been thinking of from the beginning, which was pulling the rubber block out of his mouth so he could speak.

“No, I don’t want a tail,” he said tiredly. “I really don’t want you to...to pull my teeth either, but if I had to pick between the two...I’d really rather not have a tail.”

“You sure? It would be a cool tail. Venomous.”

“I am now even more sure that I absolutely do not want it.”

“You’re no fun.” She shoved the block back in, and Erebus found himself a little bit calmer, because at least he sort of chose this. Not that he in any way consented to what she was about to do to him, but he preferred it over the alternative, which was guaranteed to make him feel completely inhuman. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to steady his breathing as she started to move towards his mouth.

The sensation of the pliers against his tooth was...unpleasant, to say the least. The cold, hard metal scraped against it, sending horrific echoes through his skull. His heart started beating even faster as their grip tightened and he felt her start to pull. Was she even strong enough to do this oh Drottkia there was so much pressure building up but he knew once it gave it would-

Hurt like hell, lighting up his entire face with agony oh it felt like someone had stabbed the spot his tooth used to be with a molten nail and he tried not to scream he really did there was blood dripping down into the back of his throat and already something cold and wet was pressing into the tender flesh around the hole she’d just made it was so cold and one, two, three now it was itching, burning, agonizingly white-hot and there was nothing, nothing else besides anguish as the foreign tooth wormed its way in.

At some point after the pain mostly died out, Neteri removed the block, allowing him to relax his jaw. He tried to catch his breath as he did so, his throat already raw from screaming. Hesitantly, he moved his tongue towards the new tooth, foolishly hoping it wasn’t-it was.

A fang. A long, sharp fang. He had a fang.

And in a few minutes, he was getting another one.

“You did so well, bud, halfway done,” Neteri reassured as she gently wiped some of the blood from around his mouth. “Can you bite together for me?” He begrudgingly did so, resisting the pointless urge to bite her as she examined the new tooth. It hadn’t aligned quite right, and it took a few tries for her to get it right, each time involving her painfully twisting it with the pliers.

When Erebus’s upper and lower jaws finally fit together properly, she shoved the block back in and gripped his remaining canine with the pliers. He hoped he’d never have to feel pliers in his mouth after today, they were so hard and cold and-hurt hurt hurt they hurt so much pulling pulling the pressure’s building up again I want this over with but I’m scared to feel that pain again but you chose it and you deserve it because you failed so endure it even as the agony stabs you in the skull even as you can’t stop screaming even as the magic burns and forces another fang into your mouth you have to endure because it’s all you can do anymore endure it endure it endure it

Thankfully, the second tooth didn’t need as much adjusting as the first, and soon enough Erebus found himself breathing a sigh of relief that at least the pain was over, even if the effects of what had just happened would be with him forever. Neteri patted him and praised him before calling in the guards, saying she’d come by his cell to check on him once she got everything cleaned up.

Back in the cell, Erebus stood in front of the mirror, as had become his weird sort of ritual after a procedure. The blood around his mouth was something he’d seen before, but as for what was inside...he knew they were there, he could feel them in there. A part of him knew, though, that once he saw them, there was no going back. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

The fangs were so, so apparent. They were noticeably longer than the teeth that had been there before had been, even if they weren’t as long as he had originally feared, but they looked as sharp as they felt. Once again, he couldn’t help but feel like he was some sort of monster, since he was certainly starting to look the part. He closed his jaw, hesitantly pulling his lips back into a smile-and oh, oh, that was horrific, no, no, absolutely no one would ever see that without wanting to run for their life. Maybe it was for the best that he never felt like smiling much these days.

When Neteri came in a few minutes later, Erebus was laying on his bed, curled around his pillow as he stared blankly ahead. She crouched in front of him, head cocked to the side. “Your mouth doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No, it’s fi-ow.” In trying to say that he felt physically alright, he’d accidentally nicked his lower lip.

“Aw, poor thing,” Neteri chuckled sympathetically, reaching up and healing the little puncture with a tap of her finger and a spark of magic. “You’ll get used to them eventually.” Erebus elected not to respond, simply looking away. Why did she think she was in any position to feel sorry for him when she was the one causing him all this pain in the first place? And for what? He didn’t move as she stood up, but he was startled when she gently scooped up his head, sitting down in the spot where it had been before letting it drop back down. Onto her lap.

He panicked slightly, trying to sit up, but she held him down. “It’s alright, Erebus. Just lie still.” He opened his mouth to protest, but how was he supposed to explain that he didn’t want to be comforted this way, that he didn’t want to associate this feeling with her, that this was something only his mother (and Lythia, on a couple wonderful occasions) had done with him? Thoughts of both of them, of his life before all this, of his home, started to overwhelm him, and before he knew it he was crying. Again.

Neteri didn’t say a word, simply stroking his hair and rubbing his back as he clutched the pillow and sobbed about anything and everything. He missed his father and his home and his bed and his friends and the palace gardens and his freedom and having control over his own body and not being chained up all the time and how, how could Neteri act like she cared about him while she was cutting him into pieces he wished she would just stop because part of him was starting to like her and want her to do things like stroke his hair and that was wrong he shouldn’t like the person who-who owned him because he was owned he was he knew it deep down and he’d never admit it but it was true and he hated it and he wished he could hate her and he didn’t see how things would ever, ever be okay again and he was powerless to do anything but cry as the woman who was keeping him captive imitated the love of people he’d never see again.

At some point after he started to calm down, he felt one of Neteri’s hands leave him and opened his eyes to see that she was holding something in front of his face. “Here, I found this when I was going through my bag the other day. Did you want to keep it?” she said as she held out a light blue ribbon, the one she’d pulled out of his hair before cutting it off. The ribbon that had belonged to his mother. He quickly snatched it up and held it close to his chest, afraid of losing it again.

“Thanks,” Erebus said quietly, rubbing the familiar silk between his fingers. It really did mean a lot to him to have this little piece of his old life, even if his hair was nowhere near long enough to tie it in.

“Of course.” She stroked his hair a few more times before giving him a final pat and sliding out from underneath his head. He sat up and wiped the last few tears out of his eyes, not even flinching when her hand slid under his chin and tilted it up slightly. “Erebus, I just want you to know that if you ever want to talk about anything, you can just let me know, alright? I understand if you don’t want to, given, uh,” her other hand poked at the tag attached to his collar, “but if you do...I’m here, okay?” He just nodded, despite the fact that he sincerely doubted he’d ever take her up on that offer. Accepting comfort like he’d just done was bad enough.

After Neteri left, Erebus looked down at the ribbon, wondering what he should do with it. The thought of tying it to his collar crossed his mind, but he decided against it. He didn’t want something his mother had touched anywhere near that awful thing. His wrist, then? Not his right one, not on that foreign arm that he still hadn’t had any luck in transforming. He settled on his left wrist, tying it rather sloppily since he could only use one hand to make the knot.

Looking at it, thinking of everything he’d lost, Erebus realized that despite everything, despite how miserable he was, despite how much he wanted to escape this place, he still didn’t want to die. He didn’t know if it was hope that things would get better, fear of death, or something else entirely, but he realized that he wanted to live. He wanted to survive.

And if he needed to accept Neteri’s comfort every so often in order to keep himself sane, then so be it.

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump @unicornscotty @thebewilderer @kixngiggles @itallstartedwithharry @inky-whump

#i wrote something #erebus & terror #erebus #neteri #whump #tooth whump #pulling teeth #noncon body modification #noncon touching #whumper comforts whumpee #the day i dont mention rat zander is the day i die #it never came up but the fangs are from a pride demon #the tail woulda been as well it would have been like a scorpion one on the end #erebus doesnt get a tail because i dont want to imagine Ass #so once upon a time allen grabbed his own tooth with pliers for research #and i for some reason wanted it for myself for the descritpions #i used the pliers on my pocket knife and Wow don't try that at home it's awful #now erebus gets him fangies in picrews yaaaaay #with every chapter we get closer to the 3rd erebus picrew i always make (the one when he's done being experimented on)#lap pillow is totally not vaguely from re:zero hahahaha #boy finally has a good cry about the shitshow that has become his life #and we're getting into his weird attachment to neteri :) poor thing wishes he could hate her but he just cant #if he wants to survive without losing his mind he's going to have to accept her love <3 #but hey he gets momma's ribbon back which i kept forgetting to do #this was written in a van surrounded by my geology homies as we drove through utah #they were thinking about rocks and i was thinking about teeth. and also rocks

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where-is-my-beheading-ceremony · 3 years ago

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More headcannons since I have nothing better to do and I'm hyperfixating on nexo knights this evening

-Post season 4, Jestro tried to escape the kingdom before his sentence was over, wanting to start life anew with the company of Roberto maybe since they're the only one who were still okay with him

-He almost managed. When I mentioned all the electrical charge he still had in him, he used it to cut out the power in the place he was held in and ended up knocking out all the dependent power in the capital. After that he barely had any charge left in him, which is good since it's not supposed to be there in the first place

-Only after the knights caught him was when they were willing to listen to his side of the story

-After that, he stayed with the knights in the fortrex and was able to roam around towns freely if there was someone keeping watch on him. Forests and other places were okay though

-Jestro has some minor sourness towards Merlok because of multiple small reasons and refuses to see him as a hero to all of Knightonia

-He criticizes (in his mind) his lack of thinking when protecting the kingdom, his lack of ability to keep Monstrox as a book away, the fact they never got rid of him, how he hid the fact he's Clay's uncle, how quick he is to give up and how much he found out the Wizard council is corrupt which Merlok is a part of. Also the fact he probably keeps even more secrets, said straight to his face "Can't wait for you to reveal another major secret when it's too late." and to be truthful, Jestro is right for not fully trusting Merlok, they have many secrets that shouldn't be left hidden.

TW: MENTIONS OF SCARS (safe to read after the " - - - - - "line)

- Jestro has a large lightning shaped scar that goes down the left side of his back and reach till his calfs

- He also has scars from being zapped in the head, but his hair is puffy and long enough to cover them fully since they're not at the top of his head

-A few burn scars are just scattered around his body from his first possession. Living in a castle of lava was dangerous even though he had a minor immunity to it

-He never dared to let go of the staffs he had and managed to keep excellent guard on them, his grip on them always vicious. It resulted in calloused palms.

-Since it always annoyingly stung, he had bandages wrapped around his palms to let them heal a bit

-During his second possession, Jestro was very detached from most of his senses and emotions. All he knew is that he was alive and served the purpose of bringing chaos and destruction.

-That caused him to be less receptive to things he should avoid, like anything that could lightly harm him, jumping off of high places, falling, bruising himself on accident. His body wasn't in a state that a human could bare so he never even noticed if he was cold or not, it wasn't natural blood that was flowing through his veins after all.

-unfortunately there definitely are lives that were lost to his hands

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

-Looking at him in seasons 3-4 just made me cold. Man barely had any of his outfit left

-He's a runner, he's a trackstar. This young man can run further than any of the knights. He's ran away from dangers and problems his whole life. He's short, but his legs are relatively long and he doesn't find it hard to run since he's trained to be light on his feet.

-His flexibility is frightening. You will see him casually relaxing in an unnatural position for sure. He would often use his flexibility as a sort of intimidation thing in seasons 3-4, looking like some type of spider with his body movement. If he were to start approaching you, his ragdoll body would seem a lot more terrifying than you first may think

-He offers to help the Knights do some flexibility exercises since their lack of ability to even do a decent split pains him

-Since he stays with the knights post season 4, that's when he starts to help them exercise and spends more time with them casually as well as joins them for morning runs

-With a little help, he decided to make himself useful and with enough knowledge, became a sort of aid to the knights, helping them with any injuries after battles or training.

-The best weapon he can work with is a spear or daggers (anything light), though he still refuses to train with any weapon.

-This poor man now avoids any sort of magic like it's a plague, afraid to get involved with it as his body is too receptive to it.

-He still encourages Clay to carefully train his magic though.

-This man surprisingly has some knowledge of programming (inspired by the season 5 episode 1 script)

-Due to that, he sort of found something he could talk about with Robin and Ava. And even if he doesn't know much, he knows enough to keep the conversation going

-He got along with Ava and Robin pretty quickly and enjoys the fact they don't try and expect something from him

-Since he's usually in the fortrex while the Knights are on missions, he ended up spending enough time with these two children to become a sort of big brother, caretaker figure. Not a big one, but he still tries to help them

-He understands Ava and Robin a lot and doesn't enjoy the pressure that is always placed on the two of them since they're still young so if there's any way for him to deny any non priority requests the knights have for the two of them, he doesn't hesitate to do so unless it's something Ava and Robin want to work on

-After a nightmare, Jestro gets very bad, but thankfully temporary paranoia and there's no reasoning with him, best to try and comfort him and wait it out.

-He once tried to visit the lava village since he doesn't remember the negative view the lava monsters have on him

-He considered himself to not be too harsh on them since he sometimes encouraged breaks and would spoil them with tasty treats, just like he later did with the stone monsters, even when he was a lot more detached around that time.

-Turns out, the Lava monsters were n o t glad to see him, but thankfully had no intentions to hurt him

-They did tell him some hurtful words and tried to violently kick him out

-Jestro was in such shock from that, but nevertheless, did his best to quickly apologize and show how genuine it was since the lava monsters were the closest thing he ever had to a family. They were always there and were capable to be genuine and had amazing dreams. Their warmth gave him comfort and that's what he confessed in his apology

-Reluctant, the Lava monsters forgave him, but Jestro still felt a bit detested from what they had said about him earlier. Which left him in shock for quite a bit since nothing hurt him more than words, everyone knows that by now.

-Good thing though, he fixed his relationship with them quickly though! And now is an awaited guest at the village all the time. Often times participating in the activities of each lava monster. Especially Magmar's cookie baking and the bakery's work

-Another thing he avoids like a plague is any student or teacher he sees from the Academy he went to. He could not handle any confrontation with them and is most detested by those people.

-while after season 2, people saw Jestro more as an annoyance and as trouble to still be allowed to do as he please. After the events of season 4, Jestro actually managed to strike fear in many of these people since the kingdom was severely damaged after these two, you could say, monster wars.

-He has a mild liking for animals like reptiles or those most people dislike, like rats or Hyenas so when he was once at the zoo with the other knights, he admired the serpent exhibit and at the same time had to stop Clay from losing his mind since Clay has a fear of snakes.

-After he managed to ease his attachment to his Jester attire, he once exited the bathroom after a shower without his hat and with some random sweater and sweatpants and was almost beaten up because the knights thought he was an intruder.

-Clay was the only one that ever actually saw or touched Jestro's hair

-Jestro's first hat was actually made by his mother and since he didn't want to let go of it when he became a Jester, he altered it to be a Jester had, but kept the same material

-He has vague memories of his mother, the nicknames she gave him, the toys he used to have, but has absolutely zero information about his father.

Lmao I'll make part 3 right after this since I have a lot more ideas, but just don't want to stuff them into one post

#nexo knights #jestro #legonexoknights #lego nexo knights #nexo knights jestro #clay moorington #macy halbert #aaron fox #lance richmond #nexo knights axl

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monstersdownthepath · 4 years ago

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Monster Spotlight: Kirrix

CR 3

Neutral Large Magical Beast

Monster Codex, pg. 184

These behemoth rodents are the result of hundreds of years of careful experiments by the alchemically-gifted Ratfolk, whom they serve as loyal pets and guardians, and many would say as friends. Able to understand Common (and any other language from the locals) but unable to speak, Kirrix obey the commands of their creators and have been bred to be loyal and loving, social and friendly as domestic dogs, though the Ratfolk don’t use Kirrix as hunting companions. Rather, Kirrix are janitors.

Few Ratfolk warrens go without a Kirrix or two prowling about, cleaning up messes their masters miss or cannot reach. Able to squeeze and compress their body into spaces such bulky creatures should never logically be able to fit through, Kirrix shift through the endless tunnels of the Ratfolk’s subterranean lairs to devour detritus and carrion, sweep away obstacles and obstructions, and lick surfaces free of filth and contamination. They’ve been given many unique and whimsical adaptations over the years of their creation, and the most notable one is their ability to Harbor Pathogens. By simply inhaling a patch of diseased air, running their tongue over a contaminated surface or item, or consuming diseased tissues, Kirrix can render the area completely clean.

They are the #1 defense against disease in Ratfolk warrens, able to safely eat otherwise dangerous molds, dispose of infectious creatures, and even swallow clouds of miasma. They are utterly immune to disease themselves, and are even nourished by exposure to such contaminants; they can store two diseases at a time in pouches near their throat, and can digest a single one as a full-round action when they need a quick snack or need to clear the chamber to make room when encountering a new source of filth. Uniquely, they can also serve the role of emergency medics; by simply tasting the blood of someone suffering from infection, they can swiftly generate a dose of curative oil that acts against that specific disease, allowing them to use the Heal skill with a +12 bonus against that sickness until they either encounter a new one or clear their chambers.

Aside from being janitors, Kirrix are steadfast guard dogs. Utterly loyal to their creators, they will literally abandon everything to save Ratfolk from aggressors, throwing themselves in the way of enemy attacks if need be. They’re not quite made for straight combat, their bite dealing a decent but unimpressive 1d8+6 damage... but you may recall that they Harbor Pathogens in their throats. Three times per day, they can expose anyone they bite to one of the diseases they have stored, even if the disease isn’t normally spread through injury, and if they expend two uses of this ability, they can spray one disease in a 15ft cone, emptying that chamber but exposing everyone in the blast to the sickness even if it can’t normally spread via contact. This ability to spread disease is often used as a last resort; the sickness being passed onto the enemies of the Ratfolk means it may simply find its way back to the warren, but it may also devastate the enemies so thoroughly that they have no one left to send. They do, as tradition demands, tend to harbor the Bubonic Plague.

Thankfully, they’re more concerned with being Good Dogs than Nasty Rats... but whether they use their powers to help or to harm wholly depends on what their master’s demand.

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #CR 1 to 5 #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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neon-junkie · 4 years ago

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Ruin Me

Summary: Micah seems a little off since he came back from jail, and he soon asks for your help as he pins you up against a tree on the outskirts of camp.

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: 2702

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Squirting, Multiple orgasms, Thigh riding, Dry humping, Creampies, Creampie eating, Face slapping, Dom/Sub, Sub!Micah, Dom!Reader, Switch, Hickeys, Bruises, Dirty talk, So much sin.

Notes: honestly, I wrote this for myself cause I haven't seen much squirting or sub!Micah, and I just wanted to include a handful of my personal kinks in a fic with my rat husband, so :) yay :)

"Come here," Micah orders as he grabs you by the wrist, dragging you away from the conversation you were currently having. He's quick to storm out of camp, you dragging behind as you ask over and over what's a matter with him. Your questions are soon answered when Micah walks you far enough from camp, quickly pinning you to a tree and placing his lips on your neck, his moustache a little rougher than usual as he nips and bites at your skin. You can feel the damp patch between your legs growing and Micah's quick to put his thigh between them, his hands tightly gripping onto your hips as he forces you to roll your hips on his thigh, grinding your clit down against the fabric of your clothes.

He's not wearing his hat for once, his red shirt hangs half-open as usual, and his gunbelt is nowhere to found. He looks like he's just rolled out of bed, despite it being the evening. "Micah?" you question, still not knowing what's caused the sudden move from your sweetheart. It's not rare to have Micah pull you out of camp so he can fuck you up against a tree, but he seems... different. He's been off since he came back from jail, still with those bruises under his eye and his dried blood that he was yet to wash off his shirt. "I just need you right now. That's all," Micah mutters against your neck as he moves off it, quick admiring the marks he'd left on you as he moves his head up, his eyes meeting yours. His brows are slightly furrowed and there's a feral glistened in his eyes, a lot stronger than the usual one he has dancing in them. "Get movin'," Micah orders you as he grips even tighter onto your hips. "These clothes are already ruined, but I need you to ruin them more for me. Hell, ruin me. I don't care. I just need you right now," Micah tells you as one hand moves up to grip your hair, holding the back of your head firmly as he introduces his lips to yours. It's more than obvious that Micah needs you right now, so you follow his orders, grinding your crotch against his jeans. There's enough friction to satisfy your needs, but Micah momentarily moves his thigh away so he can grab at your skirt, pulling it up in bunches and almost ripping your undergarments from you. You kick them off, leaving them on the floor, and Micah pulls you back onto his thigh, your skirt still gripped tightly in his hand. Micah told you to ruin his clothes, so you begin to grind your clit on the rough fabric of his jeans, leaving more of a wet patch there the more you grind. Micah lets out a chuckle as your face bunches up in pleasure, mouth parting slightly as you softly moan, getting yourself off on his thigh. One of his hands moves to the tree trunk, propping himself up, whilst the other slides under your skirt and grips onto your ass. You move your hands around his shoulders, supporting your weight as you feel your knees go weak, though you know Micah will always catch you if you fall. He said to ruin him, so why hold back? You undo a few of his shirt buttons, slipping his tatty red shirt off one of his shoulders, and begin to bite along his neck, leaving marks all over him, sprinkling down to his collar bone and slowly up across his shoulder. Micah's loving it, letting out a chuckle here and there, though it's mostly moans and grunts that escape his lips, along with praise and words of encouragement. "No holdin' back, sweetheart," Micah tells you as you leave another mark on him. You have to stop your artwork so you can bury your head in the curve of his neck, panting and gripping onto his arms as your orgasm hits you. "Atta girl," Micah praises as he holds you, enjoying your body trembling against his as you ruin his jeans. You soon slide off, admiring the dark patch on his pants leg, but it seems Micah isn't satisfied yet, despite the bruises dotted along his shoulder, matching the one under his puffy eye. There's an obvious bulge in Micah's pants, and he moves his hands off you so he can begin to undo them. "Lie down," Micah orders. Thankfully, the ground beneath you is grassy and dry, so you take a seat. Micah falls to his knees and is quick to hook your legs over his hips, stroking himself a few times before pushing his cock into you. He's working so quickly, fumbling about and rushing as if his life depended on it. He wasn't lying when he told you he needs you now. A moan escapes your lips as you lie back in the grass, enjoying the way Micahs cock stretches your overly-sensitive pussy, your orgasm barely settling before it begins building up again. Micah often enjoys fucking you slow at first, watching you squirm and whimper underneath him as you tell him off for teasing you, but he's slamming his hips against yours as he towers over you, his hands gripping onto your thighs, his shirt still hanging off his shoulder. Micah soon leans over you, placing one arm beside your head as he moves his lips down to meet yours again. His tongue slips against yours, and for once Micah is moaning rather than letting out those grunts. As he breaks the kiss, he buries his head into the curve of your neck, focusing on slamming his hips down into you whilst he leaves a few more matching marks on your neck. "Sweetheart," Micah sighs as he lifts his head up, eyes meeting yours. "Mhmm?" you moan, moving your arms around his shoulders as he changes his pace, rolling his cock into you rather than slamming it. "Would you squirt for me?" Micah asks, his mouth remaining slightly parted after he speaks. There's a desperate and tired look in his eyes, and you question when he last slept seeing as he'd been acting so off since he broke out of jail. "You really want me to ruin them clothes for you, don'tcha?" you tease, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. "I do, doll. I'd do anythin' for it," Micah begs. "Alright," you smirk. Micah moans at your response, shifting up onto his knees so you can reach down and begin rubbing your clit. He's watching you like a hawk, eyes half-lidded and mouth falling open, watching the way his cock slides into you as you play with your clit. Micah begins slamming his hips again, gritting his teeth as he takes a hold of your thighs. He shifts his weight and pulls you up onto his lap, holding your hips firmly as the sound of skin against skin can definitely be heard by anyone nearby. It's a good thing Micah dragged you so far from camp. Micah knows you're close when your body begins to shake, your muscles spasming uncontrollably. Finally, it hits you. Micah sighs heavily as he watches you squirt, soaking his shirt and crotch. He looks like he's in love, eventually bringing his hips to a halt so he can push his load deep inside of you. You've never seen him come undone before, moaning louder than you were as he leans down, resting his forehead in the curve of your neck as he rides his high. He remains there for a few minutes, panting heavily whilst his cock slowly softens inside of you. You run your fingers through his hair, pushing the strands off his face as you coo him. "You alright, sweetheart?" you eventually ask, seeing as Micah still hadn't moved, though you quite enjoyed having him cuddle up to you like this. "Yeah," Micah sighs, his eyes still shut. "I ain't done," he tells you as he slowly lifts off you, shuffling down your body. You watch him settle his lips between your legs, lapping away at your cunt, his tongue brushing back and forth over your far-too-sensitive clit. "Micah-" you gasp, your hands finding his hair as your thighs begin to shake again. He places a death grip on them, forcing your legs open as he laps at your clit. Micah's tongue finds its way over every inch of your damp skin from where your orgasm had hit you. He licks along your thighs, planting kisses here and there, before dipping his head back down and attacking your cunt again. Micah clearly isn't bothered about his own cum dripping from your hole. He instead slides his tongue in and fucks you with it, making you roll your head back and moan. It's common for Micah to go down on you, his ego feeding off the number of times he can make you cum from just his tongue and sometimes his fingers, but you never thought he'd be the type to lap his own cum straight out of your cunt. "Sweetheart, are you alright?" you manage to ask him. He still feels more feral than usual, his grips are a little tight, but the way he's manhandling you is sending constant shivers down your spine. "Uh-huh," Micah moans as he moves his mouth up your pussy, his tongue finding your clit again as he licks and sucks at the nub. You can't deny that you're not loving this, already feeling your third orgasm approaching as Micah draws it out from you. The way his facial hair is brushing against your skin is making your body tremble, and you're struggling to lie still as he continues to lap his tongue against you. Micah finally comes up from between your legs, only to lie on his back and swiftly roll you on top of him. He looks a mess, his eyes are hazier than you've ever seen them with a large collection of bruises dotted all over his collar and neck, almost as dark as the one below his eye. It's been there for just over a week, and you question if Micah's done anything to worsen it as it's taking time to heal. You know what Micah wants, so you lift your hips up, reaching down to hold his cock in place as you slide back onto it. He lets out a yelp as you slide down onto him, his cock almost as overly-sensitive as your cunt is. You begin to ride him, watching the way his head rolls back against the earth. His eyes fall shut and his mouth remains parted, his hands gripping onto your thighs as he begins to moan again. He seems so needy and desperate, not as dominating as he was half an hour ago. "Doll?" Micah eventually asks as his eyes fall partially open, looking up at you. "Sweetheart?" you reply, not calming your pace as you continue to ride him. "Would you- ah!" Micah yelps as you roll your hips perfectly, slamming down onto him. You let out a giggle but refrain from doing it again, eager to see what he's after. "Would you... roughen me up?" he asks. "Still desperate for me to ruin you?" you ask. "Yeah," he sighs, nodding his head at the same time. "How could I ever refuse you," you grin as you lean over him, placing one hand beside his head as the other takes its place around his throat, squeezing tightly, maybe a little bit too tightly. Micah scrunches his eyes shut, his mouth parting as he lets out a gasp for air. You roll your hips down on his cock, brushing perfectly against that spot inside of you, feeling another orgasm approaching. How you hadn't collapsed from exhaustion was a mystery, probably fueled by this mission to leave your sweetheart completely ruined. Micah peeks his eyes open, meeting yours. You give him a look, moving off his throat so you can plant a harsh slap across his face, accidentally hitting the bruise under his eye in the process. Oops. He doesn't seem to mind as his cock throbs inside of you, bucking his hips up at the same time. His eyes fall shut again when you move your hand back on his throat, barely giving him enough time to breathe. "I'm close," you sigh. "You got another load for me, Micah?" you ask. Micah attempts to speak but can't so he nods his head instead. You tut him, deciding his response wasn't good enough, and move off his throat so you can slap him again. "Speak when you're spoken to, sweetheart," you tell him, softening your voice as you sweetly call him by his pet name. "Yes, Miss," Micah manages to sigh. Oooh. You always get the chills whenever you hear Micah call you that, which was very rare as Micah loved being the dom during your mischievous sessions. You sit upright, leaning back a little so you can reach down and begin rubbing your clit again. Your eyes meet Micahs, both of your faces rosy with bliss and ecstasy. "You want me to squirt again for you?" you flirt, watching his ears perk up at the offer. "Please," Micah nods at the same time, the grip on your thighs tightening as his cock twitches inside of you again. "Please, Miss," Micah repeats, his eyes falling shut as he feels his orgasm approaching. You only need to rub your clit a few more times before you're cumming again, leaving Micah's stomach and crotch in even more of a mess as you soak him. Micah quickly sits upright so he can wrap his arms around your hips and force you down on his cock, burying himself as deep as he can go, drawing another load from himself. Micah buries his face into the curve of your neck, panting and sighing heavily as he rides his high, his body shaking more than you've ever seen. His grip around your waist is tight, and you know he's gritting his teeth together from that hissing sound that comes out as he breaths. You move your hand from your clit, wrapping yourself around his shoulders. The two of you hold each other for a while, bodies still trembling as you come down from your highs. Micah eventually lifts his head up so he can steal a kiss from you, a lot softer than the ones from earlier. He feels needy and desperate, melting into your touches and sighing softly every so often, even more as you part your lips so your tongue can slide against his. The two of you spend some time making out, ignoring your soaked clothes and Micahs slowly softening cock inside of you, though you know if you stay sitting on his lap any longer then it'll perk up again. Finally, the dampness of your clothing begins to irritate you, and despite your weak knees, you manage to stand up, dragging Micah up with you. You quickly slip your undergarments back on and turn to pull Micah's shirt back over his shoulder as he fastens up his pants, though it looks like the man had just jumped into a lake. Thankfully, it's dark enough and the camp seems preoccupied with stories by the campfire, so you sneak through to your tent, dragging Micah with you as your hand loosely holds his. The two of you don't exchange many words, too exhausted from your workout. You put on some light sleeping clothes, but Micah only changes into another pair of briefs, rolling into your cot and waiting for you to join him. You usually cuddle up to him, but for the first time ever, Micah rests his head on your chest as he snuggles up to you, clearly still feeling needy and maybe even a bit vulnerable. You place a kiss to his head, and faintly hear a soft "thank you." Micah falls asleep before you, despite the aching along his skin from the various marks you've left on him. You wrap your hands a little tighter around him then drift off to sleep, enjoying seeing this needy and rare side of him.

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thenextchapter22 · 4 years ago

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Hell is not the best place to have a fever

Description: Mika is sick, and then Lucifer looks after her, and then Asmo does only he also makes her feel good in other ways. (Basically: Sickfic turned Smut)

Warnings: NSFW, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering

Pairing(s): Asmodeus/OFC, Slight Lucifer/OFC

Word Count: 6,720

Link to my AO3: Click Here

Author’s Notes: So I decided to post all my works from AO3 here just because I am a needy little bitch so I hope you enjoy reading :D

_+_

It was too bright and too hot. She felt like she was dying.

Mika groaned as she woke up, licking her chalky chapped lips. Her body was on fire and still her body shook as if freezing. Instantly Mika knew she was sick.

Usually that meant she would call out of her job in the human world and take some time off to rest. But here in the Devildom she had school, and calling out would mean speaking to Lucifer, and speaking to Lucifer meant explaining she why she wasn’t going, and then it would lead to a whole thing that would end up with her being smothered by all the brothers for comfort and which, yes, she loved to be cuddled when she was sick, and she was a bit whiny and needy too. So really it wasn’t a problem, but she didn’t want to inconvenience anyone.

Mika groaned, coughing a bit as she did. It was only going to get worse. She had a fever, she could tell, and her stomach was starting to cramp up. She took deep breathes that were thick and hot and came from a clogged phlegmy throat.

“Mika?”

She froze, nerves tingly with icy fear. Oh no. It was Lucifer at her door. She felt her heart pounding. Please don’t come in, I don’t want you to see me like this. Because she must have looked a total disaster, her face flushed and lips chapped, and no doubt the room stank. Her hair was probably a rat’s nest, and she felt it and, yeah, it was run-down and sticky with her sweat.

There were three firm knocks. “You’re going to be late to class. I let the missed breakfast slide, but I will not tolerate any classes to be skipped.”

She cleared her throat before answering. “I’ll be there soon!” She winced. That fucking hurt.

There was silence. Then, another knock. Softer. “May I come in.” The tone suggested it was not a question.

Again, freaking out, and her stomach lurched along with her fear. Lucifer could not see her this way. She admired him too much for all he had done for his brothers and herself, and he would not want to look after a sick human. No matter how much she wanted him to hold her close and make her feel better.

“I’ll be out soon. Give me a few minutes please.”

It seemed speaking alone exhausted her, because she started panting. It was too hot, and her chest ached. Panic settled in when her stomach burned, and she held her mouth with her hand, and her stomach with her other pressing it roughly in punishment. Begging it not to do what it was trying to. But it was harder than she thought and her body was weak. She got up fast when the burning came to her throat in seconds and ran to the bathroom where she tossed open the toilet seat and let out pure stomach acid. It burned hot in her mouth and esophagus. Her knees throbbed from when she all but fell down onto them, and her hair was falling in the way about to get vomit all over it. She really hated throwing up. Misery built up inside her like a burning flame.

Two black gloved hands suddenly appeared, helping pull strands away from her face. Lucifer’s presence behind her was quick to make her feel better and she almost relaxed back against him. But then she remembered she did not want him to see her this way. It was disgusting human stuff and just private stuff she should be dealing with on her own.

He spoke sweetly to her. “Let it out, my dear. It’s almost over.” He knelt, yes, Lucifer knelt beside her, one hand keeping her hair back, the other gently stroking across her forehead. She saw out of the corner of her eye as she spit out the last of her vomit that he was frowning, and his eyes were… sad? But she was too focused on the pain in her throat, head, and, hell, her whole body, to really think too attentively on it.

He flushed the toilet as she moved away. Her nose was leaking and her eyes watered. Her limbs were jelly. She sighed, closed her eyes, and a head rush came on quick, lights burning behind her eyes. If it wasn’t for a gentle hand at her neck she would’ve fallen back.

“I have you.”

Lucifer turned the faucet on from his position with his long arms, and Mika watched with bleary stingy eyes as he wet a cloth, and then wiped over her forehead first. The cool wet sensation was nice and she hummed at the good feeling. A shinning spot in her pain. He smiled at the corner of his mouth, lifting the damp cloth across her mouth to wet away anything left. Her lips tingled. He gently pat under her nose, and she wiggled it, his eyes crinkled as she did.

“Thanks,” Mika whispered. It sounded awful to her own ears and hurt just as much. Embarrassed at having Lucifer, a Lord of the Devildom, wipe at her puke and snot. But it was nice, too.

“Hush, you can barely speak. No more talking, do you understand me?” Lucifer spoke firmly,

She pressed her lips together, and nodded slowly. Honestly, not talking was okay with her.

“Good girl.” He reached down to her, grabbed and lifted her up in his arms with quick grace, and she gasped, clinging to his back with one arm, lightheaded. “Your bed is filthy. Come, we are going to my room so you can rest.”

She sniffed, and buried her face in his chest. The sway in his arms of her body made her sleepy, like a baby being rocked, and she felt herself dozing off.

“Oh no, is Mika unwell?”

She turned her face, and saw Asmodeus walking their way. She blinked blearily at him. She waved with her hand on her lap and saw the Avatar of Lust grin for a split second.

Lucifer nodded. “She is. I expect you to take notes in classes for her. Pass the word on to the others as well.”

“Of course!” Asmo peered down at you, and pouted his lips. “Poor deary. I wish you the quickest recovery.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, Lucifer growling low in his throat. She smiled softly because she knew how protective Lucifer was.

“Asmodeus…” Lucifer warned.

Asmo winked at her. “Bye-bye, little Mika, make sure Lucifer takes good care of you. If he doesn’t, you know where I am.” He strolled away, humming to himself as he did.

Mika was brought into Lucifer’s room. It was dimly light, and soft music played from a record player. Classical music, she thought, but it was different. The Devildom’s version perhaps? She sighed, and lolled her head back. Thinking was too hard, she was exhausted.

Lucifer chuckled. “Don’t sleep yet, pet. First I want to get you comfortable. Here we are.” He sat her down on his bed before he walked away, and wow was it soft and squishy. She pressed her hands down, and knew she’d want to stay in this room forever just lying on the bed. She felt like she was turning into Belphegor.

“I’d prefer you to eat before you sleep, but I think you may just vomit again so we will avoid that mess. Here’s some water instead.”

She happily drank the cup of cold water that was handed to her. It was nice on her throat. Sighing in relief, she lay back against the soft sheets and pillows behind her head with his help.

“Thank you,” she said.

His form hovered over her head, and he tutted at her, one finger over her lips. She noticed his gloves were gone, and his fingers were cool to the warm chapped feeling of her mouth. “No speaking, remember? Heal that poor throat.”

She blushed. He was right, though. All she wanted to do was sleep. Which was odd, as it was morning, not night. But her body and mind was ready to rest for a while.

He sat at her side, then. Lucifer’s fingers softly stroked her hair and he did this for a few minutes. The feeling was rhythmic, hypnotizing her into dreaming. She listened to the music he had on, feeling his presence beside her. Just knowing he was there made her feel comfortable, safe. He was the strongest of all the brothers. He was taking care of her. His soft fingers combing her hair, nails occasionally scratching her scalp soothingly, she had never felt so relaxed when ill before.

“Sleep now, my darling Mika,” he whispered.

And she did.

Mika woke up slowly, groggily. Body aching, and worst of all sticky. The sheets beneath her she could feel were cool with her own sweat that soaked in an imprint which she immediately moved away from. Vaguely she recalled waking up before, delirious and too hot, and feeling soft cool touches to her face and neck, hearing sweet words from a kind voice. It had to have been a high fever and the outcome was this incredibly sore feeling all over.

“Good morning,” a soft deep voice said at her side, making her flinch. “I’m glad to see you awake and lucid… somewhat.” The voice chucked.

Glancing over, and getting her bleary eyes to focus, it was Lucifer. He carried a tray with glasses and other items. He wore a small smile on his handsome face, and if she looked deeply she could see some dark smudges under his eyes indicating he did not sleep well (no doubt remnants of caring for her fevered self the night before).

He set the tray at the stand beside the bed, and held out a glass of ice water to her. “Drink, you must be very thirsty.”

She just hummed, licking her lips that tasted awful, sour and dry. Water sounded amazing. She reached for the water glass, hand shaking. He simply took her hand, guided it back down, and after helping her sit up amongst a mound of comfy pillows thankfully not sweat-ridden, he helped her drink the ice cool liquid. Immediately her throat felt soothed, and she swished it in her mouth to get rid of the nasty flavor.

Lucifer gently wiped away stuck hair from her cheeks, and Mika sighed at his touch. No matter how many times he put his hands on her, she would never tire of it, gentle or not.

He kept a hand over her cheek, thumb soothingly stroking her skin with his cool glove. He looked at her like she was the most fragile thing he’d ever seen. “I’ve brought you some medicine from the human world and some potions as well. Satan and I made sure that none of these medicines combined would negatively affect you. Take this,” he said, setting a glass of purple thick stuff in her hand, the glass shaking just a bit in her grip.

She turned her lip up at it, and begged him with her eyes. The smell was terrible, bitter and like it was burnt. “I hate medicine. I hate potions even more. I really don’t want this, Luci.”

He chuckled, darkly, and it was terrifying. “Always so stubborn even when ill. But this is not up for debate, my dear.”

She eyed the tray, where some tablets lay as well as a cloth and thermometer. But the worst thing of all was in her hands. Who would ever want to drink this stuff? She’d rather suffer through another session of vomiting up her own insides. “I’ll take the advil or whatever that is, but not the… gloopy stuff.”

He shook his head. “Your fever isn’t as high as it was last night, but you must take this to prevent it from returning and,” he titled his head, then said, “willingly would be best.”

She glared at him, albeit weakly, and they had about a minute of a stare down. Her eyes watered a bit, she did blink but having to focus on one thing was hard. Lucifer’s eyes glowed red the entire time, his arms folded casually, his stance as still as could be, and she realized she could not beat the firstborn demon brother when she was so weak in a staring contest (she could activate the pact, but honestly it wouldn’t have much strength right now most likely).

Mika’s shoulder’s fell, and she internally groaned. “Fine.”

He grinned devilishly. He really loved winning, she thought. “Thank you, Mika.”

After taking the awful medicine and gagging, Lucifer cooing at her to which she glared, she sat back with a yawn.

“Now I unfortunately have some business with Diavolo today that I simply cannot delay in, so I asked Asmodeus to watch over you. If you’d like to stay here, you’re more than welcome. But I think he said he wanted to give you a soothing bath for your aching body if you’d like me to take you to his room?”

She sighed. “That sounds wonderful.”

Asmodeus’s bathroom was extravagant and everything you would expect him to have. It was the size of her bedroom. She had been there with him a few times before going to The Fall as he had a vanity mirror with many beauty products lined up that any girl would dream of having. She also had been in there to have bath sex for the first time, and it was absolutely glorious. 10 out of 10, would do it again in a heartbeat.

Lucifer helped her change into some more comfortable clothes, sweatshirt and pants with underwear but no bra—bras were not to be worn when ill, she told him. The walk to his room was long even with Lucifer helping her walk and eventually she got lightheaded so he lifted her into his arms halfway through. She let him this time, but really it was only because she knew she wouldn’t be seeing him for a while and the close contact was nice. Diavolo usually took him away for at least half the day when he needed him and getting any attention from Lucifer made Mika happy.

Just as they got to their destination, Asmo opened the door before they could knock. He looked up and down at them, and raised his brows with a large shining smile. “Well, this is the second time I’ve seen you in Lucifer’s arms, Mika! How lucky you are.”

Mika couldn’t help but grin. Asmo’s teasing always made her smile. “I really am the luckiest girl.”

Lucifer sighed. “Here.” And he had the audacity to pass her into Asmo’s arms like a doll. She huffed, but allowed it. Only because Asmo was wearing a soft pink robe and it felt nice to cuddle into it. Also, she felt tingly inside being passed from one man to another when both were so damn hot.

“I’ve given her a few potions, but she will need more in a few hours. I’ll send a little D with them when the times comes.” Lucifer leaned down to her face, and kissed her cheek. As usual, his gaze softened when looking at just her. He was so close she could smell his cologne, her senses heightened. “Rest well, my darling.”

She blushed. “Thank you, Luci,” she whispered.

“Aahh, so cute,” Asmo cooed. “Don’t worry, big brother, I’ll make sure our precious petal is taken care of!”

“I know you will not let me down.”

_+_

Entering Asmodeus’s room was like entering a different world. From the dark colors outside in the House of Lamentation, to the bright pinks and orange hues in his room, and all the expensive and shiny looking things laid about. It was a drastic change from, say, Lucifer’s room which was more gothic, or Levi’s which was aquatic. She only hated Satan’s room as there was never any room to sit, but the smell of books always comforted her though.

“I’ve got a wonderful bath running for you with only the best oils and bath bombs I had,” Asmo said after shutting the door. He carried her to the lavish bathroom adjoined to his room, the only one that was so large, and set her on the cushioned bench on one wall. The room was steaming and felt warm and homey, and the dim yellow and pink lights dancing overhead made her feel sleepy and soft.

He crouched down at her, and smiled at the adorable sight she made. Her cheeks were flushed. “Lavender with milk and honey, it’ll make your skin soft and take away all those aches. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

Mika had to admit, it really did. “Thanks so much, Asmo. You didn’t have to do all this for me.”

He pouted, long fingers dancing over her cheekbones and forehead, and gently under her eyes which she closed as he did. “You look so tired, petal. Come, let’s get you undressed and into the tub now.” He stood up, and held out his hands, clenching and un-clenching them. “Arms up.”

Nudity in front of any of them at the beginning of her stay was scary, but she trusted Asmo not to do anything without her consent. Plus, she had the pact as a backup if she could really harness her strength into a command. And after having sex with most of the demon brothers, she came to appreciate her body more and realize that to them she was beautiful no matter what so she wasn’t all that shy.

And she really didn’t think she could do it herself without getting super tired, and a bath in Asmo’s tub was pure luxury. No way was she not going to take one.

So she did as he said, albeit shakily. He hummed and carefully pulled the sweater off her. “My, my, no bra, my sweet? What are you trying to tell me,” he giggled.

She rolled her eyes (which hurt as she did) and laughed softly. “You know me. Always ready for anything.”

He bopped her nose once, and she twitched it in response. “I know you are.”

Getting her pants and underwear off was harder, but eventually they did. Then he helped her step into the large tub which really was more like a small pool. She sighed, or practically moaned honestly, and sank until her nose and eyes were all that was above water.

“Don’t go drowning on me now, dear Mika. Lucifer will have my head on a silver platter if anything were to happen to you under my care.”

She turned to him, and blinked slowly. She felt heavy with all the steam getting to her. He was stepping into the water beside her, sitting on the steps. He wore swim trunks that were glittery pink and outlined his physique wonderfully, plus is showed his dick off in it well. She assumed he would be wearing a thong or speedo.

“I won’t sink,” she murmured.

She let out a sigh and felt her muscles loosening. Her body felt lighter than it had in a long time.

“Ah, I forgot to mention I added a little something extra to the waters. It’s supposed to help relax all the muscles and create a sense of calm. Perhaps I put too much?” He grinned wickedly.

She made a sound in the back of her throat, and leaned back against the tub. Uh oh, maybe he did put too much as she felt herself falling backwards.

Until, there was a warm body behind her instead, protecting her head with soft hands. “I’ve got you, love.”

She kept her eyes shut, smothering her cheek into his abs. “’anks.” He smelt so good, she couldn’t help but nuzzle him a bit.

He laughed, fingers running through her wet locks. “Let’s get you all washed up now that you're less tense.”

And he started scrubbing her hair with his wonderful fingers. She felt like she was in heaven. “Fuck, that’s nice. ‘s like ‘m at a massage parlor.”

“Mmm. I am fantastic with my fingers, as you well know.”

She blushed. She did know.

“Do you want mint and rosemary shampoo, or I have vanilla milk and papaya?”

She shrugged, feeling warm and sleepy with him behind her, and the hot oiled water surrounding her. She really did not care much, but saying that would hurt Asmo’s feelings.

She liked mint shampoo at the salons when she got her hair done. “First one?”

He scratched her scalp in thought, again causing Mika to sigh in happiness at the attention. “Hm. We’ll do the mint shampoo, and then the strawberry and rose conditioner. Oh, you’re gonna smell so sweet I just won’t be able to let you leave my sight~”

She laughed softly. Then he did his magic and Mika almost passed out from pure pleasure of soapy mint fingers scratching over her head. She felt her insides melting into goo, and literally slipping under almost like she was in a trance. The mint smelled good, and it perked her up a bit from the lethargy the water was giving her momentarily. She could have sworn he was using his powers, but she did not feel aroused, more like she felt sated but wanting more.

He hummed as he worked through her hair, untangling and scrubbing. Warm water was poured with his hands over her hair, and he ran his fingers through it to get all the minty soap out. But it was hard to do because Asmo had to pull her body up twice as she sunk down deeper, feeling relaxed and almost like dead weight.

As he then started to apply the strawberry conditioner to her newly washed hair, he said with some frustration in his tone, “Darling, you’re really making it difficult to pamper you.”

He sighed in frustration and guided her between his legs, clamping his own against her thighs. She felt the push against her legs, but it wasn’t hard, just enough to keep her there.

And suddenly she felt overwhelmed. With all the smells assaulting her senses and her sensitive body being caressed over and over, it was no wonder. His words certainly did not help her feel good inside. She felt bad, he was being so nice and she was ruining it. So she wasn’t surprised when she felt herself crying silently.

He stopped massaging the conditioner into her hair, the atmosphere tense. He dunked his hands under the water to wash away the soap, and gently pulled her face to turn to his with a light pinch of her chin with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes glowed in concern at her tears. “Petal, please don’t cry. I'm sorry for what I said, you cannot help it and that's okay, I'm right here to help. We’ll be done in a few minutes, then we can cuddle in bed and I’ll braid your hair. Sounds good, yeah?” He spoke softly.

She sniffed, and nodded once. “’mkay.”

“Oh, sweet Mika. Are you feeling poorly again, or just sleepy?” he crooned, the thumb on her chin rubbing soothingly.

Honestly, her head was a bit fuzzy, but her body wasn’t aching and her stomach was fine. She shrugged. “Both?” Then, as if knowing what she just said, she held her stomach as it rumbled, the sensation running through her entire midsection.

Asmo laughed, and it sounded like chimes. “You must be starving to make such sounds. That was almost as loud as Beel’s in the morning.”

She pursed her lips, and shook out of his hold on her face. She wiped at her eyes, her arms tired from the small action. “Mean.” She faced the water below, and looked at the suds and bubbles. She was actually starting to get an appetite back, and food sounded good.

“I’ll have some light food for you once we finish here.”

She murmured her thanks, and he finished with the conditioner in her hair. It was nice smelling, reminding her of summer breezes in the human world in flower fields, with a hint of sweetness from the strawberries.

He abruptly stood up and took her with him, taking her out of the trance she was about to drop into. She grunted at the sudden movement of arms under her own, somewhat dragging her up as she was such dead weight.

The shock of air hit her body and she winced, and felt herself turning sluggish. “Next time,” she nearly slurred, leaning her nude body against his, “don’t add that stuff.”

He smiled small. And she got the feeling it was not an accident to make her this way.

_+_

There was nothing like laying down on Asmo’s plush bed with too many pillows after a luxurious soak in his amazing bathtub. Mika wore his soft light purple robe he had her borrow (because “you are not wearing those hideous sweatpants in my presence anymore deary”) and his silky black boxers. Her muscles had never felt so loose before, she couldn’t stand upright for long when she initially got out of the bathtub. Was she on drugs? Did Asmodeus drug her? Is this what being on drugs was like? She wondered. But no, he wouldn’t do that. Not without asking first at least.

Asmodeus was sitting off the side of the bed next to her, humming as he arranged some food on a plate for her that a little D brought in. He wore a similar robe and boxer set, but his were silky and nearly see through.

She reclined back against the fluffy mound of pillows even deeper on the canopy bed, and said with a sigh, “I’m glad we don’t have school and that it’s the weekend. I would feel bad for missing anymore.”

Asmo turned his head and gave her a stern look, which, to be frank, on him was absolutely adorable. “Mika, you’re ill. And you missed one day. There’s no way Lucifer would let you go to RAD when you’re sick, darling. He cares for you too much. Don’t feel that way either, you’ll always have us to help you catch up on missed work. Well, all of us except Mammon.” He winked, and she giggled.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.” She stared up at the canopy top, and noticed it had little flecks of sparkles in it that began glimmering in the light. It was really pretty, like anything of Asmo’s wouldn’t be pretty to look at, though.

“I know I am. Here Mika, say ah~”

Mika turned, and there was a piece of fruit shoved at her lips. She bit it and hummed, it tasted good. “What is it?”

“It’s a melon of some sort… not sure!” He shrugged, grabbing another in his delicate hand. This one was yellow with small orange spots, the size of a small sugar cube. She opened her mouth and took the whole piece. “Is it good?”

She licked her lips from the juices. “Mhhm, yeah it is.”

His eyes gleamed as he watched her lips. As he basically eyed her, she eyed the small plate, curious of other fruits, and then pursed her lips when she saw a small vial. It had purple liquid and she knew exactly what it was.

Nope. Mika was not taking it.

She attempted to reach for a piece of fruit herself, really intending on sneaking the vial and hiding it, but Asmo slapped her hand lightly and she drew it back with a small hiss. Her plan was ruined.

“Don’t be naughty now.” He waged his finger. She gaped, wondering if he knew what she was going to do. “Eat some more fruit and then rest a bit. Taking that nasty potion without food is not ideal, I know from experience.”

Feeding her a few more pieces of cut up fruit of all different shades, Mika was feeling good, and it was like she was being treated like royalty. Her body was relaxed, and Asmo’s aura was even more so. She bit at his fingers jokingly once and laughed when he took revenge by smearing purple juice on her nose. She went crossed eyed as he did it.

Asmodeus laughed at her, crying out, “So cute!” and kissed her nose, then he preceded to lick it like a kitten would.

She turned beet red. His eyes alone caused a reaction in her, but his tongue on her body? That was a whole different feeling together.

But it seemed he was just teasing (like usual) because suddenly his fingers were combing through her still wet locks, twirling them around. “Can I braid your hair, petal? If I braid it now it’ll be curly when it fully dries and you’ll look so gorgeous all my brothers will eat you up.”

Chuckling, Mika nodded. “Sure. As long as I don’t actually get eaten.”

“Mmm, well, I can’t guarantee Beel won’t. Now turn around for me, dear.”

She was turned around at his direction, back to Asmo’s chest in his spread legs, her own crisscross style. Having his elegant fingers in her hair again was nice, and she shut her eyes, feeling the tugs and pulls. It was like a sick spa day.

Her body was leaning back more and more, and she couldn’t tell if it was still from the bath or from her sickness taking its toll again. Or even just Asmo’s aura, even though his powers didn’t technically have any effect on her, he still did. But he had to readjust her a few times with his hands taking turns from her braid, to instead press her against him right so he could do her hair.

And she couldn’t help it, she felt bad for making him pull her all over the place. “Sorry,” she murmured. “M just really… relaxed…”

He laughed breathlessly in her ear, the heat making her head spin a bit. “It’s all right.” He grabbed her waist with one hand and pulled her body back to where he wanted. With just one hand on her bare skin beneath the robe, warm and soft. She made a “omf” sound as he did it so fast, but he quickly put his fingers back into her hair, and was done in no time at all.

“There! You look like a princess, so beautiful. Not like you didn’t before.” He tugged on the single braid playfully.

“Are you my prince, then?” she asked breathlessly. Having his hands all over her so much the past hour or so was getting to her. Being pressed close to him again made her skin tingle, and she might have just felt the boxers she wore get wet from her pussy dripping. Although, usually when she was close with most of the brothers she got at least a little bit wet. Especially with a certain eldest brother.

“Of course! Have I not always been your prince, darling?”

She smiled softly, and turned her head to kiss his cheek. “You are.” Do orgasms help when sick? She hoped so.

He encompassed his legs around her a bit more once he turned her around in his lap to face one another. “My sweet Mika.” He smiled with no teeth, and then sighed like he regretted what he was about to say next. “Now, I know you hate the stuff, and I do, too. I remember when I got sick from eating too much of that chocolate Beel got from the human realm and I had to take something similar. Lucifer is pretty adamant with this. Just try not to breath and it’ll be better.”

She frowned. What a twist, from being aroused to being forced to take awful medicine. “But—can I just have the human medicine now? I don’t have a fever anymore.”

He hummed, and pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t know, you feel a bit hot to me.”

She shuddered. Even though his powers did not affect her, she still felt attraction and she was sensitive right now. Plus, his lips were right there, and he was the best kisser.

“Mhh, you smell so sweet. But before things escalate, take your medicine first.”

She huffed, and pouted profusely. He stared at her, his gaze lingering on her mouth, and lifted his hand and pressed his single index finger to her bottom lip, pulled it down, watching it pop back. She felt herself exhale shakily, and just stopped a groan from leaving her lips.

Asmo let his hand drop, a smile on his face and his eyes practically neon with power. He took the vile from the plate discarded to the side of the bed, bare of the fruit. He popped the cork and tipped it to her lips. “Drink up.”

She again opened her mouth for him again, as she would most likely always do, and swallowed the disgusting potion. It would be the last time she took it, and not even Lucifer could tell her any different. “Blegh!”

He smirked at her then, and gave her some water from his nightstand to help. “Sorry, my darling. How about I make you forget about that nasty taste, yeah? Would my tongue help?”

She tilted her head up, braid falling back. “Please,” she begged.

“Please what?”

He leaned closer. Mika’s body leaned closer in return, her chest to his. The air felt hot, static-y. All that separated them from being bare against once another was the two thin robes. “Please kiss me?”

His mouth was soft on her own, and a bit wet from him licking them in anticipation. He pressed her down to the bed, using his tongue to pull her lips apart gently as he positioned her. She let him lick in her mouth for a moment, just lying there, pliant.

“You taste so sweet,” he murmured on her mouth.

She cried as he bit her lower lip too hard, hips raising off the bed to meet his. “Ah! Asmo…”

“Hmm. I’ll be gentle, darling, I promise.”

And then he was kissing her cheeks, sliding down and down until he was at her lower half, on his knees. She realized her legs spread far apart automatically, and glancing down at him she really wanted his mouth on her.

He read her mind, because he asked, “Can I taste you here?” He parted the robe, and smiled seductively up at her. His fingers ran over her clothed clit, circling.

She cried at the touch, her body hot. Her head flew back, hands clawing bedsheets. “Please please, yes!”

“So reactive, I love what I do to you. I barely even touched your little clit, and look at you.”

Mika felt her bottom half raising off the bed, searching for his mouth, or something. His words made her burn even more, it was like a fire struck inside of her, and she was needing relief

“Let’s get you out of these now.” He tore through his own clothes she wore, and her lower half was in open air. She was totally nude. “How wet you are, glistening really.”

He kissed at her hipbone, suckling a small hickey there. His hand massaged her other hip, fingers sly and dancing over her thigh. Teasing, and making her leak more. Kissing a pathway down to the inside of her thigh, he used his other hand to pull her leg up, and then hot air blew on her folds.

She threw her hands down to grab his hair when he pressed his tongue flat on her and licked up. It was a rough pressure and she felt it down through her legs, making her tense up even with the way her body felt like goo. “Asmo, yes, ng!”

“My sweet petal, you taste divine,” he whispered against her pussy lips. His tongue pointed and flicked at her clitoris then, a rapid movement. She pulled on his hair, and shoved her hips up to meet his mouth better, which was difficult with the fact that he held on of her legs. “Ah, yes, use my face.”

“Inside, please, want your tongue in me,” she begged. Her eyes shut tight, and she tossed her head to the side, biting her own lip.

He bit her clit then, and she cried loudly, gripping his hair very hard. She let go and moved her grip to the bed sheets instead. One hand still holding her leg up by her thigh stayed, warm on her goosebumps skin and the grip wasn’t too hard. His other was on her hip, fingers circling her hipbone with softness, nails barely scraping but enough to make her gasp a little bit here and there. She felt open and bare and so wet and hot.

And that was when he really got into it. His tongue roamed outside her vagina, poking in just so, and then it was fully inside, and he flattened it and his lips sucked on her. Mika couldn’t breathe. The sensation was incredible, she felt full and wet. Her body was trembling, her core so heated. She wanted more, she wanted a bigger sensation.

He pressed his finger to her clit, and rubbed back and forth and he tongued in and out of her pussy. It was good, so so good, but she wanted something else.

She shook her head, and said, “please, I want… tongue… on my clit…”

Asmo hummed in acknowledgment and slurped away from her vagina, his hands on her leaving as well. She felt cold suddenly, but when he looked at her again she did not, she felt turned on more with his gaze so focused. “Ah, I love how straightforward you are in bed. You look so delectable, my sweet.”

She looked at him then, his face wet with her own juices, as he licked it up, fingers popping in his mouth for a quick moment to swirl and he hummed in delight. His body was lean, and on display in front of her, dark boxers with an obvious bulge. He was so gorgeous, could have anyone, and he was eating her out.

Her stomach clenched. She needed more. More from the Avatar of Lust. “Please…”

“Begging will get you everywhere, darling.” He laughed, and he never looked as bright as he did then. He went back down on her, and lifted both her legs up abruptly, and Mika gasped. He really went for it then, and the tongue on her clit was fast, so fast it was almost vibrating. She was climbing quick, and hard, her body shaking.

“Asmo,” she chanted over and over.

Her chest rose and fell. The noises were sloppy sounding, and it turned her on even more. Then his fingers, two, entered her and fucked in and out as he nibbled and suckled her clit vigorously.

“Come, gonna come now!” she said breathlessly.

Seconds later, with a rough pump of his fingers and a hard suckle of his lips around her swollen bundle of nerves, she was coming, pulsating around his fingers. Lights danced over her shut eyes, and her legs shook a bit. She moaned softly, riding it out with some small thrusts of her hips, Asmo letting her, and then her body dropped down from where it was pressed up to his face.

“Ah, my dear, there’s nothing quite like a good orgasm to make you feel better.”

She laughed, and pulled him down. Well, she reached for him by clenching her fingers in the air for a moment with eyes shut, and he complied, lying beside her.

“Cuddle time I’m guessing?” he teased, pinching her side.

She gasped. “Yes. ‘M tired now.”

“Ah, so I don’t get anything in return?” he asked sadly.

She frowned, and opened her eyes. “I can, I’m sorry. That’s selfish of me.”

He smiled, and bopped her nose again. “My sweet Mika. Hush though, I was only joking. You close those pretty eyes and rest now.”

She hummed, snuggling close to his chest. Thankfully he really meant that, she would know otherwise, because she could not do much else right then. “Thanks, Asmo. You’re the best.”

“Hm, yes, we all know this, but please keep saying it.” He kissed her cheek, and said softer, with pure affection in his tone, “Sweet dreams, my petal.”

#mc x lucifer #mc x asmodeus #ofc #obey me fanfic #shall we date obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #obey me asmodeus #shall we date #swd #obey me #fanfiction #my fics #obey me fanfiction

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zagi-the-creator · 4 years ago

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Kimetsu no Yaiba: Enmu’s Backstory (Fan-Made)

The sun shone brightly through the window of an ancient house, illuminating a drab room with a wooden bed and a single, small lump on the floor. The lump was covered in a tattered blanket and stained a strange, dark red. It trembled, almost as if it couldn’t stand to see the sunlight. It raised a pale hand to close the window. “Get up!” came a shout from the door. “There’s work to be done and you’re the only one around to do it!” The lump sighed and stood, shaking off the blanket. “I’ll be right there,” it whispered in a soft, shaky voice. “I promise.” “I can’t hear you!” the woman on the other side of the door yelled. “Get over here now before I confiscate that ratted blanket too!” “I’m coming!” the lump cried, a good bit louder this time. Its voice cracked at the last syllable, giving out entirely by the end of the short sentence. “It’s always like this,” it thought. “If only I could have a break or at least a little time to heal up…” The lump sighed once more and reached out to open the door. Before it could get to the door, however, the woman on the other side flung it open, knocking the lump over. She grabbed the lump by the collar and pulled it up onto its feet. “You good-for-naught servant! I swear on the dead soul of your blessed father that if you don’t fix yourself up and respond properly, Enmu, you will be thrown on the street for the swordsmen to deal with!” Enmu shivered. The awful swordsmen were something of a nightmarish legend in the village of Tasukete. They would come through in bright cloaks every once in a while to search for the mythical man-eating Demons and kill them brutally. It was even rumored that they would toy with the demons and tempt them with the local village children. Enmu had caught himself secretly wishing to join these swordsmen and get revenge on the horrible family he lived in, but he had stopped himself every time. “Only sadists would do that,” he had thought to himself somewhat regretfully. “And my father never liked those kinds of people.” Now, the threat of being thrown on the street was quite common. However, it still alarmed Enmu each time that it was brought up. This time was no different. He nodded slowly to the woman to show he understood. “Use words, Enmu, you aren’t mute yet,” she snapped. He attempted to reply, but his voice simply wouldn’t work. It came out as a raspy bark, which sounded rather similar to a fox. The woman huffed and dropped him, letting the lump (now somewhat recognizable as a small, boyish figure) find his footing. The impatient lady then walked out of the room, expecting Enmu to follow her (which he did.) The sun was high up in the sky now, indicating it was probably around lunchtime. The bright light from it reflected off of the body of a pitch-black train engine nearby, which was almost entirely covered by rust and ashes. This engine had been at the station for the last week or so, and from what Enmu knew, it had only been used once in its lifetime. “You’ll be cleaning this off today,” the lady said. “You know where to find the supplies; I expect you to be done by this evening.” Enmu stared at her for a solid minute in a state of shock. “There’s no way I could get this garbage heap clean in such a short time! I’d take the streets over this," he thought desperately. But alas, he could not speak, and the lady left to head back indoors. Enmu slowly walked over to the engine to inspect it and see what he would need to get the rust off. The more he looked at it, though, the more fascinating it was to him. At first glance, the engine looked like a simple hunk of metal. When he examined it closer, he noticed the vast complexity of it; each part was there for a reason. Each plug, valve, rod, was there for a specific purpose. It had to be. Enmu rushed indoors to find the supplies to clean it off in hopes of discovering more about this foreign technology. Time passed slowly as he cleaned off the engine. By the time he finished, it had gotten quite late, and the moon could be seen over the horizon. Enmu stepped back to look over his work, about to collapse from exhaustion. He sighed in relief; it was completely cleaned, top to bottom, not a single part left dirty. Now that it had been cleaned off, Enmu could see the full engine. It was an incredible sight; it was a beautiful shade of black with golden accents across the front and along the sides. There was a plate on the front where a name might have been written at one point. Enmu was just about to examine the plate further when the woman from earlier flung open the front door. “Are you done, you useless git?” she demanded, her voice clearly audible from across the station. Enmu cringed at the sound of her voice, and he almost ducked to hide behind the engine. “I’m done,” he whispered, then paused in amazement. “My voice seems to have healed,” Enmu mused, “that’s impossible, it never heals that quick…” “I can’t hear you!” The woman yelled, approaching the train where Enmu stood. “Speak up, boy! Nobody will care about what you say if they can’t hear you say it!” Enmu stood straight with a sudden surge of defiance. “Maybe I don’t need to be cared about,” he replied, looking the lady in the eyes. “maybe it isn’t my fault that I can’t speak well-” The lady swung at him, pinning him against the ice-cold side of the train. He yelped and attempted to back away, but there was no escape. “Is that any way to speak to your mother?” the lady roared, infuriated at Enmu’s defiance. “You should learn your place! You should be infinitely grateful that I brought you into this world and allowed you to live in this station!” Enmu was trembling. His newly regained voice seemed to have failed him once again, and he was filled with a deep sense of regret for speaking so outwardly. He wanted to speak, to apologise, to cry out, but he was shaking too badly to do so. Then, mother raised a hand, potentially to slap him again. Enmu turned away, hands raised defensively, his eyes closed tightly in anticipation.

But her hand never reached him. Enmu opened his eyes a little. He saw a tall, well-dressed pale man standing in front of him. The man’s back was turned, so Enmu could not see his face, but he seemed to have caught Enmu’s mother’s hand and was holding it tightly by the wrist. “That’s enough,” the man said quietly. “You’re acting quite childish.” Enmu’s mother was shocked. “Where did you come from?” she inquired, understandably shaken by the sudden appearance of the man. “Why is it your business what I do with my son?” The man turned to look at Enmu. His bright red eyes seemed to pierce Enmu’s soul, seeing right through him and sizing him up. “This man is something else,” Enmu thought, in awe. “He’s different, somehow…” Eventually, the man turned away to face Enmu’s mother again. She watched wordlessly, judgmentally, as he raised a hand. In one swift move, he sliced her head clean off with his wrist. It landed on the grass with a solid “thunk.” “You don’t deserve to be alive,” the man said with disgust. “You’re the scum of the earth. How presumptuous of you to blatantly disagree with the Demon Lord …?” Enmu finally found his voice. “The Lord of Demons?” he inquired, utterly fascinated. The man turned toward Enmu and, after a pause, nodded. “And you are?” “E-Enmu,” Enmu stuttered, now somewhat afraid of the man. “My name is Enmu.” “And you’re not at all bothered that I killed your mother?” the man asked. Enmu thought for a minute. Somehow, he wasn’t that concerned with it. He had never seen this much blood before, and he had never witnessed murder, yet it didn’t bother him in the slightest. “No,” he said slowly, “It doesn’t really bother me.” The Lord of Demons looked him over curiously, as if considering something. He was silent for quite some time; enough time for Enmu to get a proper look around him. The blood of his mother had seeped into the ground, staining it dark red. “Thankfully, none of that got on the train,” Enmu thought with relief. “I just cleaned it off… Wait-” “The train!” he said suddenly, and stood. “What will I do with it now? My mother wanted it for something important, but now... you know,” he looked over at the decapitated corpse (which wouldn’t be operating a train any time soon). The man (or rather, demon) examined engine thoughtfully. “It does seem like a waste to let it rust here,” he remarked. And then, as if he had come to a conclusion about something, he looked back at Enmu once more. He placed a hand on Enmu’s shoulder. “What would you do,” he said, smiling slightly, “if you had the opportunity to become a demon like I am?” Enmu was surprised. “Me? But, I’m not very special. I don’t have any talent, I don’t have any special skills,” “You have yourself,” the demon said quietly. “And you have a lot of potential. You could be quite useful to me.” The small boy looked up at the demon and smiled. “I think that would be wonderful.”

#enmu #enmu demon slayer #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer mugen train #mugen train #infinity train #infinity train arc #muzan kibutsuji #muzan #kibutsuji muzan

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gemstoneslesbian · 4 years ago

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I love you Matt hcs so much! So much inspiration for mine too!

Have you got any post-cannon hcs? (Maybe angst/Whump one? But that’s not so important I would love to hear any ^^)

Thank you sm!! :D

All right SO, my main niche in the fandom is fleshing out the Ace Attorney prison, examining the relationships between all the characters there, fleshing everyone out, considering their character arcs, etc. It’s definitely something I put a lot of thought into and get excited about ^^

I imagine there being three main prisons:

Prison A

The canon prison shown in Ace Attorney Investigations: 2. Prisoners are allowed one animal companion, there’s a supplier with influence over the warden (and, imo, the guards as well), it’s overall a prison that can be interpreted as more relaxed--with limited corruption, due to the fact that, in my opinion at least, Sirhan Dogen wouldn’t put up with much BS. Although he can’t control everything, Dogen has a decent amount of power that he uses to make his prison livable.

Prison B

This is the opposite of Prison A. Damon Gant is in charge, but in a different kind of way; after being Chief of Police for so long, he still has a lot of power and connections, and many officers hold respect and / or fear towards him. The prison is a hierarchy of power and control with a lot of corruption, and anyone who doesn’t work for Gant is in danger.

Prison C

The women’s prison. Dee Vasquez has the upper hand here, due to her outside connections with the mafia. She handles things in a more manipulative, underhanded kind of way--isn’t so much focused on the prison at large, but moreso on securing her own matters. She uses protection or exploitation sparingly, and when she does, she deflects attention off of it as much as possible. While the prison isn’t as horrible as Prison B, it’s not as safe as Prison A.

Now that the environment has been established, time to get into the details about Matt:

‎

Matt Engarde went to Prison A.

In Ace Attorney, fame and riches seem to make little difference when it comes to putting someone behind bars. However, the game does show that it can add complications, and affect things to a certain level. With that said, here’s how I imagine things went over with the arrest:

Things are a whirlwind of chaos and fear and pain at first, but it doesn’t take him long to get a deal set up with the prison. Sometime within the first week of his imprisonment. Thankfully, this is done quickly enough that his assets haven’t been transferred to his parents, yet.

His sentence is 10 years. No death penalty or life sentence, because the deal is that, for each year that Matt Engarde is alive and healthy, the prison receives $500,000. This would give them ample reason to take measures to protect him from De Killer.

Matt doesn’t have an endless amount of money, and he also doesn’t want to be stuck there forever. In his mind, hopefully De Killer would be behind bars or dead by the end of those 10 years, and if not... well, he’ll figure it out when he gets there.

He’s given the cell down the hall from Sirhan Dogen, the infamous assassin. This scares the HELL out of Matt at first, but the guards assure him that it’s for his own safety:

However, since he’s placed in this cell before the deal is made, there was an ulterior motive as well. Due to the fact that Shelly De Killer is another infamous assassin, Warden Roland considered it a possibility that he’s one of Dogen’s outside contacts. If Dogen were to rat out Matt’s location to him, the prison would be prepared to capture and arrest De Killer, and it would be confirmed that they had been contacts.

Obviously, Dogen could rat him out no matter which cell he’s in, but it’s more convenient to place Matt there as bait since the hallway is monitored so heavily--they’ll be prepared to restrain both De Killer and Dogen if/when that time comes.

If the deal were made beforehand, he likely would have been sent to Prison B; even though it’s a harsher atmosphere, no one in there is presumed to be a contact of De Killer’s. While he could have been transferred at this point, it’s decided that they’ll stick to their regular plan, just with added precautions and safety measures.

Matt, although suspicious, never has any sort of confirmation that he’s being used as bait--at least, not until years later.

BUT ANYHOW.

‎

Interactions and Reputation

I get into it a bit in this fic*, but the gist is this:

There’s no point in continuing to act charming when everyone knows it’s BS, and any chance of Toughness or Good Standing he could have had are kinda... shattered by his frequent (very loud) panic attacks late at night.

For the first year, he doesn’t bother trying to make friends. He doesn’t care about them, they won’t care about him, and he’s not interested in playing a tug-of-war with power dynamics when he knows he won’t always necessarily come out on top. So he’s kind of a loner here. Occasionally entertains himself by picking fights.

*(Spoiler warning for AAI2 in the fic I linked!!)

‎

Character Arc

From this point, I can see it going in several different directions. I have two different fic AUs where things turn out differently in each one, and I also have an extensive role-play I did with a friend of mine. In terms of imagining his “canon” life and his future, I definitely learn towards the events that transpired in the role-play, so I’ll focus on those.

(My friend and I made a post analyzing his personality and character arc, so most of the things I’ll mention here have been mentioned in this post in greater detail. HOWEVER the post is EXTREMELY long and also contains major spoilers for AAI2. So if you want to avoid spoilers and also want a summed up version, feel completely free to just read the summary below!) (oh also, with relation to the post I just linked, tw for?? a variety of common triggers)

I should mention that this might not be COMPLETELY spoiler-free, but I do avoid saying the spoilery name. It’s hard for me to accurately gauge what is and isn’t revealing, since I already know all the spoilers haha.

And, without further ado:

-Everything about his world has been turned upside-down. Instead of being adored, he’s despised. Instead of being the one with power, he’s the one under the thumb of others. Instead of a life of comfort and privilege, he’s confined to small, uncomfortable areas, and is barely paid anything for his labor. Additionally, he could be killed at any moment at any hour at any location--and this is something he’s forced to endure for years on end. The entire situation is incredibly stressful and traumatic for him.

-About a year after his arrest, a guy moves into his cell with him. Things align in just the right way that a friendship of some sort is formed between them: the guy is friendly, pretty, relatable, into some of the same hobbies he’s into, and he has power within the prison walls. It’s beneficial to form a friendship with him... and the guy isn’t annoyed with him for his (now much less-frequent) panic attacks, but rather, shows sympathy.

-Neither of them particularly trust one another, but they enjoy each other’s company.

-Humans need comfort, and Matt is no exception. Under the intense trauma and stress he’s enduring, it’s all too easy to form some sort of bond with the nice guy who dances with him and pets his hair and holds him.

-It’s important to mention that Matt is rendered unable to do his usual power & control shit. And he especially can’t get away with that kind of stuff when his new cellmate shows up. The guy is Very Alert to underhanded behavior (due to his own underhandedness + the fact that he’s dealt with one too many bastards), and is quick to call Matt out on even minor things. So Matt’s options at this point are either:

a.) try his manipulative shit and lose any small amount of power or comfort he may have had, with an added risk of retribution

b.) resist all forms of connection / interaction with other people, and just be miserable and alone and scared all by himself

c.) be friends with the guy WITHOUT being a shady douche, and getting to enjoy the comfort and benefits that provides

-So... YEAH. Long story short, he makes friends with the guy. And, also, lowkey catches feelings for him.

-Matt also makes friends with Simon Blackquill a couple years later (and that has its own backstory)

-His previous ways of moving through the world do not work at all here. In the end, Matt’s main goal is to get what he wants, and to feel good. With the circumstances, he has to completely change his approaches in order to meet that goal.

-Matt may be cold and uncaring towards other people’s emotions, but it’s clear that he does have very intense emotions. He shows much more vulnerability and pain now than he used to, because doing so makes him more sympathetic to his friends--but he also needs to learn to not be as manipulative about it, and to actually consider the other person’s emotions instead of making it all about himself.

-He does ultimately decide to make the overall changes necessary for healthy interpersonal connections, since it’s in his best interest to do so. It’s not easy, and he hits plenty of road bumps along the way. It definitely dredges up a lot of shit, a lot of painful emotions; he’s extremely self-protective, and genuine vulnerability is hard and frightening.

-The tl;dr is that he’s dragged through a healing arc, kicking and screaming the entire way.

‎

That’s what his life in like in prison, overall! There’s a ton of aspects and details, but I figured it’d be best to cover the basic storyline ^^

I also have thoughts on how things would go after he’s released from prison.

‎

...OH SHIT I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO MENTION THE SHELLY THING LMAO

I’m gonna make a post where I detail out what happens, and then link it here when I finish.

Edit: Here it is!

#Matt Engarde #aa post #Matt #thank you for the ask!! and thank you to everyone else who's been asking too aaa #I'm so happy people are interested in my headcanons #aaprison

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nelllraiser · 4 years ago

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soul in control | frank & nell

TIMING: before nell’s drowning via constance. LOCATION: outside soul on the rocks. PARTIES: @frankmulloy and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: an accidental use of pheromones leads to panic for both parties involved. CONTENTS: panic attack, ptsd symptoms, drug manipulation (accidental pheromones), non con (accidental pheromones) SPECIAL NOTE: i’ve included a more in depth, and less trigger focused summary here for anyone who might be hesitant about reading! there are still mentions of the triggers, but in less detail.

Frank took in the empty bar with a calm appraisal, one could say that he was almost relieved. For most, the new day would soon begin, for Frank that meant it was time to gather his losses and head home. Tonight’s loss, thankfully, was just the one black eye, and through the murky window he could see the shadow already looking a lot less severe than it was a few hours ago. Nothing time, and supernatural healing could not make quick work of. His focus brought back to the task at hand, Frank gave one last survey of the bar’s inside for any outstanding job that the night’s bustle had distracted him from, once satisfied that everything was in its right order, he put in the bolt that sealed the entrance to the bar and pocketed the key. Turning his gaze toward the road, his eyes fell on a lonesome figure by the roadside, and his wavering thought turned rigid. The silhouette alone was unsettling on a night (well, close to morning now) so still, so quiet, upon seeing who it was, Frank was careful to conceal any unease with as much casual grace as a hard day’s labour and a black eye could muster. “A little late.” He put a cigarette into his mouth, not yet lit, the stick hanging lazily on the corner of his lips, bobbing with the movement of each syllable. He looked around, as if to make sure that his statement was in fact true, “everyone’s already gone. Bar’s closed.”

Nell was just coming in off her evening as well, though it hadn’t been the night crowd that had kept her awake. Her profession always called for flexible and strange hours, and it didn’t help that her sleep was still so often unsettled after all the events of the summer. Technically she hadn’t even been working her job in these parts of the Bend, but being as close as she was to the old site of the Ring— she hadn’t been able to resist scouting out the area near it, especially after learning that they were trying to rebuild. However that meant walking by Soul on the Rocks, and as she shivered in the early morning air she squinted towards the shape that was lingering in front of the bar’s doors, perhaps already thinking of the time she’d bitten an unsuspecting bartender before realizing the very same man was the person hovering by the entrance. “If it isn’t my old nemesis,” she began with a tease, the rough edges she’d had the evening of their meeting somewhat smoothed over in the light of the day. It was easier to be cordial when she hadn’t just finished throwing punches, and been dragged out of a bar. “I’m not here for the bar. This was just on my way home.” But as she drew closer to where Frank stood, and the sun barely winked over the horizon, she could see a mottling of darkness over that man’s eye. Instantly her brow furrowed towards its center, a small frown tugging the corners of her lips southwards. “What the hell happened to you?”

Around the breath of a chuckle (because that was all their history and his pride was not quite willing to grant her a laugh just yet) he said, “har-dee-har, you’re a regular comedian.” Though Frank’s features sobered somewhat, the tender mirth whipped away by the new piece of information that she had just fed him. “My condolences if you live around here,” he said and the old bar, that was a few chipped paints and leaky roofs away from being decrepit and one health code violation away from being dilapidated, solemnly echoed his sentiment. The buildings did not get better the deeper you went into the Bend. Most of it, casted into the shadow of the luxurious New England style living on the other side of town, and the even larger shadow across the river. It was not a very nice place to live. He should know, he lived here. “Oh shit, right...that” With a light shake of his head and a breezy wave of his hand, he dismissed Nell’s concern, although was quietly touched that she was. “Occupational hazard. You’re not the only one that likes to through their fist around. I was just standing on the wrong side of it.” An occurrence that was happening with increased frequency. You’d think Frank would have gotten used to it by now, but the pain that answered his tender touch was a harsh reminder that just because it happened more often, didn’t mean that it hurt any less. “It’s nothing, trust me, it just looks worse than it is. Come more it’ll be as if it was never there.” Perhaps that was more truth than he’d meant to give, and he sidestepped quickly with a glance at his watch, skillfully playing into the casual banter that apparently existed between them. “Which reminds me...it’s almost my bedtime. But I mean, do you need a ride home or would you like me to walk with you?” While morning light was not far off, the shadows from the previous night still lingered and, from experience, Frank learned to exercise wariness of what might lurk behind it.

“Har-dee-har?” Nell quipped back in a single moment with a healthy dose of judgment in her voice. “Who actually says that? What are you like- seventy or something?” The levity of her initial and well-meaning jibe was still folded between the spaces of her voice, not wanting to bring back any of the energy that had gotten her nearly tossed onto a curb. At least- not right now. “Oh no-” she promptly rectified, not wanting to give Frank the wrong idea. “I don’t live that close by. It’s just I was coming from that way-” she paused to gesture towards Amity Road, “and I live that way.” This time she vaguely pointed in the opposite direction of her first indication, which left Soul on the Rocks smack dab in the middle of it all. In all honesty, Nell had been raised in a family that was perhaps a bit too well off, and only recently had financial troubles begun to plague her in the form of hospital bills and being essentially disowned along with her sisters. At least Bea’s house where the trio of Vurals lived was all paid for. They didn’t have to scrounge for a place to stay or anything along those lines. Perhaps a little too late, she remembered to say something nice about the area, realizing that Frank might live around here. “Ah- I mean it has its charms, though. The rats in this part of town are the most talented.” Okay...perhaps it’d come out a little less polite, and leaned more towards a simple joke to diffuse any possible tension. Her defensive nature was quick to flash back to her features as he mentioned the bar fight, and Nell shifted on the balls of her feet. “I didn’t punch you! And I didn’t give you a black eye. Just you know...bit you,” she ended her sentence as a stubborn mumble, as if saying it quieter would make it less true. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder just how often this ‘occupational hazard’ made a mark on Frank. “I have a salve-” she mentioned seemingly out of the blue. “It could help...if you want.” Offering assistance to him didn’t come as naturally as it would had she been talking to someone she knew better, but the extension of it helped gnaw away the corner of some of the guilt that was flickering in her stomach. “A ride?” she repeated in the same way she’d echoed ‘What?’ when he’d asked if she was okay after the altercation in the bar. Nell simply wasn’t used to being the one offered a form of protection, even if it was one as simple as walking home. More often than not she was the one fending off supernatural threats or whatever White Crest had decided to throw at its citizens that day. “I mean- it’s kinda far. I live in the Outskirts. Basically in the middle of nowhere.” But as if the universe had heard Frank’s concern of what might be making a home in the shadows, a bonedoggle seemed to appear from thin air, shadow hopping into place beside the bar. “Or you know what?” Nell amended hastily. “Actually- I could use some company on the way home. I mean- what better way to end the day, right?” And what better way to get Frank away from the supernatural pup?

Frank’s reply came out in a pleasant, “hmm,” as he reached into his pocket for a lighter, neither denying nor concurring to the jibe about his age. He was not without days where he felt the age that she had jokingly assigned him with, and there were more days that he felt it than there were without. A wariness that was felt to the bone. A cigarette offered a temporary salve, alas the real desire came at too great a risk for him to indulge in more than what was absolutely necessary. He recognised immediately the look of pity and then the gradual transition into regret. Were he a kinder man he would have stopped her then and there, and spared her the mortifying ritual of having to explain one’s meaning for fear of offense or misunderstanding. Frank pocketed his lighter, curved lips parting around a wispy chuckle, “it really doesn’t.” He said, but his real meaning was clear: I live in a dumpy part of town. I know. It’s fine. Her indignation was answered with a patient rise of his brow. Perhaps she had forgotten the series of events that led up to her biting him in the first place. His hand fell on the phantom mark; any evidence of the bite having existed was gone by that morning, though forgetting the experience was not so easily achieved and a lot more time consuming. “Yes, you’re right, that is much a lot better.” Yet, what was this? An offer of salve? An extension of kindness, even? Guilt made saints of us all it seemed, he thought, smiling, “I’m good, but thank you.” Though the smile quickly smoothed over to an expression of quiet curiosity. The incredulity was familiar, and then Frank was reminded of the other night and the little piece of information that he had filed at the back of his mind about Nell. He regarded her with sympathetic interest, like one might do an injured creature, without condescension but with great warmth-- and perhaps a little pity. “You’re not used to people looking out for you, are you?” No that wasn’t quite right. “At least no one that had any ulterior motives anyway-- Oh, you don’t have to answer that. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

Frank sought for the cause of her sudden shift in demeanour, but found little else saved a small black dog--albeit a sickly looking one, sniffing about the shadows, but nothing that warranted any great concern. “Right...um, well I’m not going to walk you to the outskirts so...car’s this way.” Was that a dog toy stuck to its hind leg? He took one last drag of the cigarette and put it out with his boot. Probably best if he didn’t watch too closely, or think too hard on it. He learned that in this town, nothing good ever came out of doing either.

Nell knew just as well as any other person on Earth in the year 2020 that smoking wasn’t good for you. But she barely knew Frank, and she’d never been one to try and police someone she’d met only once before on their lifestyle unless it was harming others. So instead of telling him how cigarettes were killers, she smirked lazily before raising a hand to try and playfully flick at the glowing cherry at the tip of it. It wasn’t hard enough to knock the cig from his lips, just forceful enough to be a nuisance. “It does,” Nell insisted stubbornly, refusing to give into what was probably an act that was meant to take pity on her or something of that like. “I mean- I’m here right now, aren’t I?” It’d be easier to steer away from the awkwardness of the conversation if she made a pointless quip about herself. “That’s a definite plus.” Her head cocked to the side in a tease, as if inviting Frank to join in so that they could both escape that particular line of conversation. “Yes, I know it’s better,” she replied with an air of continuing to see just how much she could push with Frank. Thus far, he’d proven to be exceedingly patient— even when she’d been practically yelling in his face the other night. Sure he’d also had a moment of passion, but he’d proven that he was rather adept at reigning it in. Nell on the other hand had never been even remotely good at keeping her emotions and subsequent reactions in check, no matter what they were. His denial of the salve caused a small thread of disappointment to shoot through her. After all, her offered help had been genuine, and just because she herself had caused him pain— it didn’t mean that she took any joy in seeing another’s violence enacted on him. “One day-” she began, almost in a threatening tone. “One day you’re gonna accept my salve. And you’re gonna like it even if you don’t like it.” Her index finger had come up to emphasise her point, her arm lifted embarrassingly high in order to get it to align with his nose in a chastising shake.

Nothing could have prepared Nell for what he said next, it being so seemingly out of the blue in when it came to her expectations. “I-” The beginning of her answer cut off, somewhat shocked into hesitation at Frank’s audacity to say something so unnervingly unexpected and personal. “That’s not true,” she began hastily. It wasn’t for the most part, right? She’d always had her two older sisters looking out for her whether she’d wanted it or not. Especially when it came to Bea. And their love had been unconditional, even if Nell hadn’t always felt like it was. In reality...most of the love she’d gotten in her life had felt conditional until a year or so ago, though she still couldn’t be sure of all of it. “That’s not true,” she repeated, more calmly this time. He said she didn’t have to answer, but pride made her want to set him straight. “I guess I’m just more used to being the one offering help.” Even moreso in these last few months she’d gotten accustomed to carrying the weight of every problem that came her way. It had begun with Bea’s death and resurrection, only snowballing from there. Responsibility was no light burden to bear, and she didn’t often share it if she could help it, preferring to shoulder it alone. But at the same time it was true that much of her youth had been spent not asking for help because she knew she wouldn’t receive it. Perhaps it had become more of a habit that she’d realized. That was a far off thought as she warily watched the bonedoggle. The thing looked a little worse for the wear, perhaps a little malnourished. Maybe she could loop back around once Frank was gone and try and wrangle it for Jared. It’d be safe and well cared for on her nymph friend’s farm. “Hey, you’re the one that mentioned walking. It’s not my fault you did it before knowing where I live.” The witch tried to call back their more casual air, not wanting Frank to think that anything was wrong. Turning towards the direction Frank had mentioned his car was in and away from the pup, Nell’s heart dropped to see a familiar silhouette now in front of her despite her best efforts. It seemed that the bonedoggle had jumped into one of the shadows between them and the car. “Oh- ah- looks like it’s a stray,” she quickly tried to cover. “I bet it’s just hungry. I think I have something in my pocket.”

Wordlessly, Frank lifted his chin to avoid the determined swipes of playful fingers. He was tall, but what she lacked in height Nell made up for with persistence and a great enthusiasm in trying to get a rise out of him. His own pleasure was in the resolution of impeding the enjoyment of hers. “Oh yeah, and here I was thinking that the rest of my night was going to be quiet and peaceful. Lucky me, now I have you to steer it in a completely different direction.” He said through smoke and teeth, and then deciding that the safest place for his cigarette was between his fingers lest she was successful in riding him of it. Cigarettes weren’t cheap. At least not on his bartending budget. Perhaps he ought to take Ariana’s joke about venturing into the bodyguard business more seriously. His expression gave no indication of his drifting trail of thought, however; steeped in patience and calm appraisal as he listened to her…was that a threat? Something about the finger pointed at his nose said that it was, or at least trying to give the impression of one. “Sure Bitey,” he said, mouth curving into a mild pleasant smile (he was not completely oblivious to the strangely amicable reaction her nuisance elicited in him) as he calmly guided her finger away from his face, “one day. Just not today.” Frank couldn’t help the slight tilt of his head as Nell began her explanation. For a moment, all Frank did was watch as the woman digested his words, and then grappled at pieces of her thought, deciding what she was willing to share and what she’d rather keep omitted. She seemed uncertain at first, or at least taken aback, but slowly gaining more confidence as she was gradually verbalising those thoughts, feeding him bits and pieces of information that she was not at all obligated to give, and did anyway. She insisted that he was wrong, although her initial hesitation seemed answer enough. “Hmm,” Frank took a drag of his cigarette and glanced back at his companion with a smile, “maybe it’s worth thinking about why that is.” Jesus H, he needs to spend less time at his shrink’s office. “Or you know, don’t. Do whatever you want, I’m not your boss.”

Frank’s car was the only one in the lot, and it wasn’t much to look at: a beat up old 60s ford that’s seen its best days past and was now holding together only by sheer will and scotch tape. Still Frank loved it enough to refuse to buy another car, and was proud enough of it to take mild offense to anyone who might have a bad word to say about it. Half of the people he knew did, the other half thought it suited Frank perfectly, though the latter did not seem like as much of a compliment as one might think. The key on the driver’s side took a bit of work and some gentle persuasion on Frank’s half. “Yeah, and why don’t you take the damn toy off its hind leg while you’re feeling generous.” The words felt nice to say (strange) although the weight of it did not register with Frank until the car door finally opened, but Nell was no longer at his side. “Bitey?” He said, but she was walking away from him, an odd almost possessed determination in her stride. “I was kidding Bitey, leave the poor dog alone.” But she did not relent, and the closer she got the more agitated the sickly little stray became, its little teeth gnashed together as a warning. That was when Frank noticed the odd glow in its eyes, something not dog-like at all. “Come on kid, I was just fucking around.” He had her arm now, holding her back but he could feel her resistance. “Nell, seriously, stop.”

The controlling pheromones and silver tongue came over Nell just as quickly and efficiently as they had with Jax all those months ago below the Ring. Just because they hadn’t been as targeted and intentional as the despicable gancanagh’s didn’t mean they were ineffective. The creeping sensation of a need to please— the need to do whatever that lovely voice was asking of her gripped her in its iron hand, quickly making it feel as if her muscles had a mind of their own, moving her along of their own accord towards the bonedoggle. And yet...as the familiar sensation came over her another emotion rose to greet it, rearing its ugly head as it too fought for control of her. Panic wormed its way through her chest, feeling like a metal vice around her lungs as her breathing grew harsh. “Stop it-” were the first two words to find their way through the heaving of her uneven breaths. Whether she was talking to her own legs or Frank was unclear, and not even Nell knew which it was she was commanding to cease fire. Powerless. Out of her own control. Just like she’d been as Montgomery stood over her, readying to behead her in the middle of the forest. Just as she’d been as Jax clamped a magic inhibiting bracelet on her wrist and had her walk herself to her own jail, a cage she’d sit in for a week without being let out to so much as stretch her legs, given just enough food and water to survive and nothing more. “Stop it!” she yelled out fiercer this time. The saltiness of her unnoticed tears gathered on her lips. She could taste it. Salty like Bea’s blood had been when she’d woken up to find her sister dead and headless beside her.

Who the hell was Frank, even? Was he like Jax? How did she know he hadn’t been sent to avenge the death of the gancanagh Nell had lended her hand to? What if the Ring had found her? What if this was their attempt to bring her back? To lock her back in that cage and make sure she never got out this time around? Rationality was lost as these questions ricocheted off every hidden corner of her mind, growing louder each time they collided against one another. It felt like nails were clawing at her throat, crushing what little air she had between their fingers to wrench it back— all the way down until she couldn’t breathe. And yet...beneath all of this was that sickenly sweet feeling of wanting to do whatever it was Frank commanded, to retrieve that dog toy for the man who’d requested it if it was the last thing she did. It took her a long moment to even realize that Frank had latched onto her, but when she did her first reaction was violent, a blast of pure and instinctual magic exploding forth from her to throw him off. “Don’t touch me!” she yelled savagely- desperately. He’d take her to the cages if he got her in his grasp. Put that bracelet on her and make sure she never saw the sun again. But still her legs carried her towards the hound that now nearly lay in arm’s reach. The shadow hound’s ears were flat against its head, not welcoming of this new development in the least. It wasn’t attacking, but it’s fangs were bared in a warning snarl as Nell drew closer, the pulse of magic having made its fur stand on edge.

For one starved of heat, the sudden explosion might have been welcomed, had it not burned right through Frank. Not even his wings, whose instincts were usually better than even his, could withstand the sudden force, Nell’s magical tempest took his breath and then his feet as it hurled him into his car as if he weighed nothing. The metal groaned in protest at the sheer force of the impact, flat on his back Frank was left in a daze and in considerable pain, his car--he didn’t even want to look, although this proved an easy task as there were more pressing dangers to occupy his concern. The shadows seemed to birth more hounds, each one bigger, uglier, and meaner looking than the last, sporting an armour of bones and...dog toys? Apparently, the stray wasn’t as alone as they had first thought, and one after the other, pairs of glowing green eyes followed Nell’s path and there was nothing benign about the way the dogs bared their teeth. She was going to get herself killed, and it was going to be his fault. The weight of that reality was too gruesome to bear, so the natural course of action was to do everything in his power to rebel against it. Frank grappled at any shred of strength he had left, and to will those that were not there into existence. A new fire burned through his veins, nothing owed to any magic or supernatural inheritance, but pure, human, adrenaline. Magic had thus shown its usefulness (which was not at all) and a gentler approach had proved its effectiveness in the Frank-shaped dent that warped the length of his passenger door. He could not afford another blow, lest she pushed him too far out of reach, where he could not get to her in time. And while Nell’s pace was not hurried, it was determined, and not slowing.

“Fuck.” The human approach it is then. “I’m really sorry about this, but this will probably hurt me a lot more than it’s going to hurt you.” Without thinking too much on it, or allowing Nell the same courtesy, Frank threw his entire weight into her, throwing her off her spellbound path. Her back pressed hard against his chest, her arms trapped beneath his. His entire body twisting at the last second so that his back bore the brunt of the fall. That was probably not a very smart thing to do, and he was fairly certain that that was her elbow against his ribs. Turns out, breathing was significantly more difficult when you have the entire weight of another body on top of you, which was not helped by the fact that he was also thrown against a car only moments before. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” There was nothing graceful in the way Frank literally grappled for her skin, the struggle was a hurried and desperate one--with lots of flailing. At last his fingers found the soft span of skin on the inside of her wrist. The pulse hummed with life, warmth, he could feel his own matching in chorus. “Please stop Nell! For god’s sake, stop! Please, please stop!” And she does, and Frank felt a shudder of warmth pass through him. He had her now. The thought was not his own, yet it spoke with a honeyed smile and beckoning fingers. It would be so easy to just...eat. She wouldn’t feel any pain, they never feel any pain, hell, she’d probably enjoy it. With a groan, Frank dropped his arms. She rolled off him and he could breathe again. He’s so tired. It’s an ache that sank deep into his bones. He’s so fucking tired.

Despite the utter panic gripping every inch of Nell’s body, there had still been that hopeless need to get the dog toy off the bonedoggle or die trying. Fighting the sensation had only proved useless, just as it had when Jax had her in his grip. In fact, her silent throes against the fae ability had only made things worse. The more she tried to fight and failed, the more hysteric she’d become. Then finally...finally she felt every muscle in her body go slack at Frank’s newest command. The whole exchange couldn’t have lasted more than thirty seconds, but it’d felt like a lifetime as Nell had grown closer and closer to the bonedoggle, then wrenched over the cliff that sent her soaring into the abyss. Somewhere in her fractured mind she was aware of the warm spot on her wrist where Frank had made contact. The touch on the mottled scar tissue that spanned the entirety of her arms in its patchwork pattern was grounding this time, though it quickly shifted once more into alarm.

The moment Nell was free of the gancanagh’s influence she was on her feet in a flash, hands blurring forwards from her sides as she uttered a spell, the Latin words cracked by her still shuddering breath, and the occasional half-hearted sob she hadn’t even noticed until now. Even as she stood broken and shaking her self-preservation was on auto-pilot, knowing this was the next step if she wanted to ensure that her life remained her’s. As the magic did it’s work, invisible handcuffs formed around Frank’s wrists, latching them together uncomfortably close. Then came his ankles as she left him hobbled on the ground. Again her hand raised, but this time it was aimed threateningly towards his mouth, as if she were readying to close that for him next. “Who- who are you?” she asked in a shaky tone, hating how small her voice sounded as she tried to find something to hold onto in hopes that she wouldn’t float away into that space of panic once again. She didn’t ask what he was. That was already a question she knew the answer to. Gancanagh. But paranoia was still a healthy driving force behind her queries. “Did he send you?!” No, Jax was dead. Nell had seen it with her own eyes. But what about Montgomery? He was still out there. Maybe he was trying to finish the job. “Why are you here?” This time she managed to make her voice stronger, her ever-present determination beginning to take over, though there was still a hint of desperation to the words.

In the brief moment of quiet, Frank’s eyes drifted across to the shadows, searching for the green glowing eyes, the bared teeth--the very imminent threat of getting ripped to shreds by them. Alas the shadows were just that; shadows, and the sun had peered enough above the horizon for him to see the rough shapes of empty cardboard boxes and dumpsters and trash cans that lived in them. But the breath of relief did not make it past his tongue, but was stuck in his throat; choked out by the sudden burn of an invisible rope that fastened his wrists together, the same force biting into his ankle. “What the fuck…” The words whistled past clench teeth in a painful hiss as the beginning of angry red rings formed around his skin, burning faster than he could heal. The answer to his question came out loud and angry, in the shape of Nell standing above him, an accusing hand held out above him, but it was more than accusing. It was the source of the burn. She looked angry, hurt, betrayed even, though he could not pinpoint the source. The realisation was, quite literally, burned into him. The source was him. Her question sent a chill down his spine, a vicious hand that stopped at the pit of his stomach where it’s fingers balled into a fist and twisted. The pheromones, it must have messed with her head somehow, some sort of amnesic side effect.. Frank wasn’t certain of the science or even how it worked, which was precisely the reason why the thought made sense. “You know me Nell, it’s Frank! It’s fucking Frank!”

Who sent him? The amnesia was worse than he thought, and apparently so was the burn, the genesis of blisters forming on his skin where the ‘rope’ was biting into it. He tried to sit up, but he had spent the last of his strength, and even those that he did not have, and he had no will left to give. Somehow to move into any position beside the fetal seemed an impossible feat. Frank’s

own tolerance for pain was high, from his occupation, his history, he was conditioned to be. A well placed punch to any part of his body was tolerable for him, normal even, but there was nothing normal about this. If left long enough would the rope sever his hand completely? Like some morbid Bond villain laser weapon? Maybe. Probably not. Probably. It was a magical rope, and Nell looked fucking angry--and he was pretty sure that the prolonged pain was making him delirious. “Wait--what? No! No one fucking sent me! It’s me! It’s Frank, you fucking bit me!”

Nell stood there for a long moment looking at Frank, trying to make sense of the words he was spouting. But it was difficult to believe what he was saying when a large and panicked part of her brain insisted on spewing things that were simply not true, making her hesitate. Her heart was still throbbing in her chest, beating out a rhythm that was far quicker than usual. Everything was moving too fast, and yet too slow all at once as her eyes raked Frank over, a ferality in them that didn’t promise any logical thought. It wasn’t until she felt something brushing against her legs that she was jerked out of the hyper focused state, looking down and away from Frank to see a familiar face. Taki? It was her familiar, an Ovinikk that looked like an enormous black cat the size of a Shiba Inu to those that didn’t know what he truly was. A purr, followed by a little dog-like bark erupted from him as he broke through the barrier of her confusion. He always had a way of showing up at just the right time, and as their emotions were more closely linked due to the familiar bond, he must have sensed Nell in her distress, following their link until he could find her and help in whatever way he could. Without invitation he leaped into her arms, and they reflexively dropped from their spellwork position to catch him, breaking the concentration necessary for her magic. The soft fur of the familiar against her was another awakening, and finally she looked back to Frank, a different sort of dread filling her stomach as she saw the pain etched into his features. “Oh shit.” Instantly the magic holding him in place dissipated, freeing the man as she managed to find the beginnings of clarity. The knowledge of his fae heritage certainly helped her believe that his words of innocence were just that. Innocent. He wouldn’t have been able to lie that outrightly about someone sending him...right?

Nell’s gaze dropped to where the bindings had been, and she was shocked to see just how angry the skin was where they bound him, the blisters filling her with a sense of guilt. The spell wasn’t supposed to do that. But she knew as well as most spellcasters that one’s emotional state was heavily responsible for the outcome of a spell, and seeing just how fractured her’s had been at the casting...it wouldn’t be a far cry to think that the magic had turned more destructive. “Shit,” she repeated, that nervousness still buzzing in her as she took a tentative step forward. But she couldn’t bring herself to come too close— not while her body was still trying to scream at her that she was in danger. “Are you alright?” she asked reflexively, looking with concern at the injuries she’d unwittingly doled out. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-” Then came the rush of embarrassment, the tear tracks still wet on her face feeling glaringly obvious in that moment as a cool, morning breeze blew over them. What the hell was she supposed to say after a stint like that? How was she supposed to explain exactly what it was that had happened? How thoroughly she’d lost it? She wasn’t the sort of person that lost it in the first place. All this time— ever since Bea’s death in June, she’d been holding it together, refusing to crumble as she forged forwards, keeping determinedly on the path she’d made for herself. How had all that work come undone from a single, stray pheromone? Nell was the one who was always collected in the face of danger, and yet she’d taken a nose dive straight into the ground, all rational thought thrown to the wind. “I’m sorry,” she said again, not knowing what else to say. A large part of her wanted to walk closer so that she could take a look at his injuries, possibly even help— but she still couldn’t completely ignore the paranoia that had made her its prisoner, telling her that another step in his direction would be her downfall, and it was her fear that did the speaking for her this time, though she refused to let her her voice shake, the iron in it quickly returning as she tried to reassemble the hard, ever present armor of her rough exterior. “Why did you do that?” she demanded, realizing that even if her reaction hadn’t been anything she’d expected, he still needed to answer for the use of pheromones in the first place.

Frank drew his first painless breath, and the relief alone was enough for him to want to pass out. He didn’t however. His consciousness was still maddeningly persistent, a likely result of a history of beatings. Though magically getting his ass handed to him was definitely a first. An experience he had no desire of repeating. He could feel her coming toward him. Her body had cast a shadow over him, blocking the first glimpse of the morning sun, yet she felt distinctly warmer. There was a long pause. She must’ve said something but his ears were receptive to little else but a long ringing sound. He begged his eyes to close but it kept blinking, tracing the red, blistered, rings that wrapped around his wrists with a strange mixture of morbid fascination and caution. As if, if he were to close his eyes fully he might open them to something that was much worse. A part of him knew that it would heal, eventually, but the sight of it—the reminder of its existence—sent a sort of phantom pain to leak into everyone fibre of his being. It turned his blood to lead and weighed his bones; it hindered any true relief and made being grateful, which was already in short supply, that much more difficult. He was tired. So tired. And so so hungry. The cold floor of the pub’s parking lot did not help in this but in his current state, the thought of moving, let alone sitting up, seemed like a feat of near impossible scale. Why the fuck didn’t he just fucking pass out? It took another moment for him to realise that Nell was still there, standing over him. Distanced and wary. He thought he could see tears in her eyes though it was difficult to tell considering the state of his own vision; average at best and decidedly worse when impaired by pain and fatigue. He could see her mouth moving, forming words that he only caught bits and pieces of.

“Nell…I,” His throat was raw. His speech painstaking; the effects of the fatigue, the magic, the pain, a combination of all of them. Frank takes them even slower, because somehow, despite still being on the floor—a man of over 6 feet reduced to a heap of meat and bone at her feet—it’s less mortifying than to stumble over each word. “I didn’t do…anything.” This was not untrue…entirely. Frank had always thought himself separate from his gancanagh heritage; an unwanted inheritance of a father that did not have the care to teach him how to live with it or the patience to teach him how to use it. He was the legacy of a man that didn’t care for one and didn’t want one; the product of one night’s oversight that he elected to ignore. Everything that was good and decent about him was the direct result of his mother, his very human mother. Frank cleared his throat, formed the rest of the sentence in his head before saying it. Two seconds turn into three, turn into four before he found it. God he was so tired. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to…I don’t know how to...”

There was a long moment of silence that stretched between them as Nell processed what it was Frank had said. Of course she’d heard of fae that didn’t have control over their abilities. And it wasn’t just fae that fell into that category. There were countless supernaturals out there who had been thrust into the world with little understanding of what they were, and what they could do— let alone the dangers they posed untrained. Her next choice of words were morally questionable, but they were something she needed to help quell the nerves that wouldn’t leave her be. “You promise?” she asked, knowing the weight the words would hold. As soon as they were fulfilled, she’d happily release the binding phrase. “You promise you didn’t intend to control me with pheromones?” It was, perhaps, wrong of her to steal away some of Frank’s control by voicing her carefully crafted question. But it was the only way she could think to take some of her own power back, as well as know for certain whether he was being truthful or not.

“Do you know what you are?” was the next question she posed, figuring it was the most logical follow up. If he didn’t know how to control himself, there was a large chance he was also unaware of his lack of literal humanity. If Frank didn’t know his own species, Nell would have to prepare herself to tell him, and hope that it went over better with him than any attempts to acquaint Regan with the supernatural had gone. “You’re hurt,” she observed yet again, her eyes darting towards his wrists to get a better look at them. “Let me see.” Her sentences were short in an attempt to hide the shaking that was still wracking her hands. She didn’t want it to bleed into her words as well, and reveal just how deeply she’d been affected. It was silly, considering her outburst not two minutes ago. Surely Frank was already aware of how badly she’d reacted. Still- her pride wouldn't allow for anything else. With a quick little spell, she Summoned a jar to her hand, figuring there was no need to hide her magic any longer after what had just occurred. Inside it was the aforementioned healing salve her mother had taught her to make, one of the only useful things she’d gained from the woman.

“I promise…I promise.” He said, without knowing its true meaning. He felt the weight of it sink into the marrows of his bones; it beckoned to something ancient within him, a strangeness that was unfamiliar to him yet whose powers made up every fibre in his beings. He felt it, vividly—if truth was a thing to be felt it was this, and yet Frank could not put words nor meaning to it so he let it go and did not think about it. Even if he wanted to, there was not much time for him to dwell on it. Apparently satisfied with his answer, Nell was poised with another question. His eyes followed her shadow up to her eyes. She knew what he was, and she knew it well. A history he did not know, only that its effects were striking. She knew what he was well enough to be afraid, so afraid in fact that she had him reduced to a writhing mess at her feet. He recognised the fear, for it was the very same thing that forced a distance between him and everyone he met, that put fire to his constant supply of cigarettes to keep his body warm and ebbed his appetite, that poured glass after glass of alcohol down his throat to keep his abilities dulled and subdued, for however long it might last. It was if he had been looking into a mirror, only now it was Nell’s face that was looking back at him. It made him sick, and through the nausea he forced out the words, “yes…I know what I am.” He knew what he could do, the problem was he didn’t know how he did it. How not to do it.

Frank didn’t see her take out the jar, or where she could have possibly hid it on her person. Then he decided that if she could create invisible ropes that burned through his skin, that she could pull out a whole ass jar out of nothing. Pride might have objected to receiving her help, but he hadn’t the strength to move away and as he was still on the floor, he was in no position to say no. He was just glad for the moment of rest. “I guess I was wrong.” He managed to say, a dawn of a smile cracking across his lips. It looked tired, but the humour could be heard laced through his words, “today is the day I get to try your salve after all.”

Frank’s immediate promise was more than enough to finally and fully convince Nell that the man hadn’t had any ulterior intentions, or had intended to do what he’d done in the first place. But that only caused the flicker of worry in her stomach to reignite for two reasons. The first being that he’d so readily agreed to a promise. It was telling of how little he might actually know about himself and the world around him. As soon as he was done with his own binding, Nell was quick to be rid of it. “I release you of your promise,” she uttered, parroting the words Jared had said to her not all that long ago. “You shouldn’t make promises that instantly,” she warned. Nell would have to tell him the intricacies of that later. The second worry on her mind was his apparent lack of control. If Frank didn’t know how to regulate his abilities— it made him a danger both to others and himself. A gancanagh that didn’t know how to control himself would be a prime target for any Hunter. “Okay,” she managed to say sagely. At least Frank knew he wasn’t human. That was something, right? She could work with that.

Finally, Nell let herself crumple to the ground to sit with her legs beneath her- shoulders going lax as she settled closer to Frank with her jar. She was careful to keep a healthy little distance between them, not yet calmed enough to get as near to him as she might have before the early morning and all its events. Scooping a healthy glop of the salve out of its container, she first reached for Frank, but then hesitated. “I- you should probably do it.” Who knew if his pheromones would kick in any moment? Causing that skin crawling panic to grip her once again? Frank’s tentative trease caught her off guard, and a pit of uncertainty lodged itself in her stomach as she tried to figure out whether or not she was ready to joke with him again. “I guess you were,” was all she settled for, a neutral territory that could go either way. Even if he hadn’t meant to control her- it had still happened, and the dread was still living in her gut, a lingering after effect of her hysteria. “But we should go home.” After this twilight, they could probably both use the sleep. “Once you’ve put on a good amount of that salve on. Actually- you should keep it.” It sure looked as if he could use it while working at Soul on the Rocks.

A wordsmith was not a quality that was ever attributed to Frank, and certainly not if his high school English teacher had anything to say about it! In fairness Frank was much more accomplished with his hands than with his words, which suited him fine if you consider how little he had to say to anybody now. Although if anyone had the curiosity to ask, they would know that Frank loved words. Reading it. Speaking it. Words just sounded that much more delicious when it came from Frank’s mouth and he loved to say it, he loved it so well it seemed almost forbidden somehow (then he learned that perhaps it was). The words were in itself its own feeling, ironically enough they were much more difficult to describe than pain when you’ve stubbed your toe or feeling hungry or fired. You can describe the sensation of stubbing your toe with the word ‘pain’ but how do you even begin to describe the sensation of the word ‘pain’? How do you describe the sensation of the word ‘release’? But she had said it and he felt it, and then he was very confused all over again, and this only made him more tired.

Then came the second blow: I guess you were. He had always felt inwardly the effects of his abilities, guilt was not so potent when the people affected by his abilities were usually ignorant of it. It was something else entirely when he could see its effects, made worse somehow worse when held under the glare of the morning light, as if heaven itself was casting judgement. Shame sat on Frank’s tongue, sharp and acidic, it made the word hard to swallow so he had to force it out, “right.” He was about to go on when a familiar softness returned; regardless of his own penitence it would not ease Nell’s pain to deal out his own. She too was in pain, and it was his fault. “Call yourself a cab Nell. Please.” He offered her a smile, and it looked pained when carried between set jaws as he willed himself to sit up. He produced his phone from his pocket. It was without a scratch on it, which was a surprise to him considering that morning’s ordeal. He pushed it toward her, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you should sit in the same car as me right now.”

The pinks and purples of the early morning sky were beginning to take over most of the horizon, and the light peeking over the horizon cast Frank and Nell in a gentler light, blurring their features and giving the world an almost ethereal glow. It was strange to see the beauty of the morning following moments that had been full of strife and suffering. It was cyclical as always. Even if this had been the end of their evenings, it was the beginning of a new day for the rest of the world. And even if these last few minutes had been filled with worry and shame, it wouldn’t last forever. For inexplicable reasons it was the mention of a cab that finally helped Nell find her center as Taki paced the perimeter of her and Frank, his tail brushing against either one of them every now and then. “I didn’t let you throw me into a cab the first night,” she began carefully, toeing the line of recovery as she took a shuddering breath. “And I’m sure as hell not gonna let you do it now.” He was right about the car, though. That would have been too much for her even if she could feel normalcy slowly returning to her fingertips.

“I’ll just jog home. I have good jogging partners,” Nell finished somewhat cryptically, glancing towards her familiar who let out a dog’s bark at being mentioned despite looking like a cat. “And I usually take a morning run.” It was always how she started her day. Looking to Frank’s car, she internally winced as she saw the dent there. “Ah- sorry...about that. I can help get it fixed.” Looking over Frank once more, she decided that if they were going to avoid a repeat, either with one another or with Frank and someone else- there were some important trips they’d have to take in the future. Obviously the man would have to learn to control what he had, but a decent enough short-term remedy would come in the form of pheromone blockers. “I’ll message you once I get home,” she offered as she stood to go as a means of telling him this hadn’t been an ending. Just like the sun of the new day they’d come around again. Her nerves might still be telling her that there was danger about, but just because they’d cracked didn’t mean they need be broken.

#// i adORE jt and their writing slays me thank u #non con tw #panic attack tw #wickedswriting #drug manipulation tw #chatzy #ch:frank #soul in control

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eldonash · 4 years ago

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Venom || Kristof&Orobas

Timeline: Beginning of July; after this Chatzy Location: East End; Kristof’s Residence Possible TW: body horror with Orobas’ injury, death Summary: Kristof finds Orobas after his bad injury, and takes him to his house to let him feed and heal up enough to walk. The two aren’t entirely on friendly terms, but share an deep past. Haxian comes to collect Orobas and learns Kristof is in town.

He didn’t know where he was. The delirium from the pain had made his mind slow, and hazy, and his steps had led him away from his car after he left Lydia’s side. They staggered over his usual elegant ways, and he kept remembering things from his past. Lost in the ghosts of them, following the feeling that these lands would transform into old villages in China, or the clock tower of London. All his lifetimes seemed to overlap right now. He wasn’t close enough to have a mental connection with his master and not having him there made Orobas’ further unhinge. Haxian-- he thought out and finally settled on the ground, his knees stopping his fall and dirtying them up. Where was he? His eyes closed, and he tried to listen out for a heartbeat, anything that he could use to heal the burns in his mouth and throat, the holes in his cheeks ached and burned around the edges, like a smoldering log in flame.

She told him that her name was Susanne, and that her place was only a few blocks away. Kristof was not a stranger to women being this forward, and so he accepted her invitation and walked out of the bar, already savoring the taste of her blood. In order to break routine, he decided to play a little game of cat and mouse since it was more entertaining when he made them think they had a chance to escape rather than end their lives so swiftly. Hope was the thing that humans clung to in moments of pure panic and desperation. He was not going to be the bastard to take that away from her. She screamed when she witnessed his true intentions. Amused laughter crept passed the vampire’s lips, watching as the female made a run for it. Heaving a sigh, Kristof started to walk down the alley after the stranger, his pace remaining rather slow. Of course, she had to be a runner, a fairly predictable action. It didn’t exactly change anything, though, he knew that he was much faster than her, so naturally he could catch up if he wanted to. If he wanted to. But it was the familiar scent that distracted him. Finding Orobas in the state he was in was both painful and satisfying. Painful because somewhere deep down in that cold heart of his Kristof still had some type of affection for the vampire who he once considered kindred. Satisfying because it was not him the one suffering and there was something about watching another creature in pain that just made his day just a little bit brighter. Kristof stepped closer to where Orobas was on hands and knees. If the other vampire were to open his eyes all he’d see were his black biker boots splattered with mud.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Orobas’ head tilted minutely at the voice, only seeing soiled boots as he couldn’t move anymore. A rotten coil of annoyance settled in his stomach that Kristof was standing over him, but no matter how they all argued and fought over the many centuries, there was the smallest relief it was someone he knew. Well, he had hoped for a nice dinner with the four of them to establish some truce and say hello in a much more controlled manner, but he hadn’t predicted what happened with Lydia to turn this way. Not that he minded, the sadist didn’t care about the pain, but he also couldn’t do more without feeding. He fell sideways, landing with a dull thud on the ground. Orobas was always a man dressed impeccably, and the long black jacket was now coated in dirt. The dust from the alleyway puffed around him. He felt a coma like state slow his mind further as the injury was too grievous and a vampires natural inclination to shut down or go berserk dwindled the last of his energy reserves. He couldn’t speak even if he wanted too, his mouth ruined, and burned over. His eyes were in the distance, blurry, but he could hear it, the quick thud of a pulse.

He paused, lighting the slender cigarette that lay limp, stuck to his damp bottom brim. Pursing his lips the stick rose and the flame, shielded by one of Kristof’s hands, licked at the tip before it began to glow. Sucking on the Marlboro red momentarily he pocketed the lighter before exhaling the scented smoke with a small sigh. The last time he saw Orobas it had not been a particularly happy occasion. It was days before he and Haxian left London and he had given him this look, as if Kristof had been the opposite of civilization. And now, over a century later, he was at his feet, twisting like a wet rat that had just been fed poison. He had two choices. Walk away and leave him here to fend for himself. Perhaps he’d be lucky and manage to feed off some stray before the sun came up or he could grab him and drop him off at Bloodhaven and have someone else deal with the problem. Kristof opted for option three, which was to pick him up and take him home with him. Why would anyone else take credit for nursing him back to health? Besides, he didn’t want to have to explain who he was and why he had found the vampire in the state he was in. So after giving his cigarette one last drag he flicked it, watching it land and drown in the mud.

“Come on.” Kristof sighed, reaching down to pull him off the ground and throwing Orobas over his shoulder. Was not long before he was placing him on one of the beds in his home and it was then, under the lit room, that he could get the full picture. The horrible portrait of Orobas’ molten face. “You look like hell.” Blood, that’s what he needed. Thankfully he had someone there to use whenever he felt slightly peckish.

In the past, Orobas’ memories were distant and rung together like a damp towel, spilling freely in a blending of years. Haxian had always made sure they moved a lot, letting Orobas go do whatever he wanted, and then quietly cleaned up behind him. There were long stretches of time that were filled with war, from sword fighting in ancient China, to the civil wars in America, and those periods Orobas killed freely, to a deliriously pleasurable point and every time, when he came out of those crazed states, Haxian was always there. Holding his arm, telling him he did well, encouraging him to be worse for him, a mantra of evil that was so easy to accomplish. How many lives have been taken by Orobas? Hundreds of thousands. Being in such a state wasn’t new for him, slayers had always eventually found them, to kill a legend like him was too good to pass up, but this was the first time ever-- in four hundred years, that Haxian wasn’t the one to grab him.

Orobas wanted to lash out on instinct, to pull out his ivory handled dagger and jab it in Kristof’s throat, but the world was gone from his sight before he could move. When the words drew him hazily from the depths of his mind, and memories, he cracked open red iris’ to look at the space. It all blurred in and out of focus until Kristof’s face finally came in semi-clear. A huff of a laugh came out almost instantly, the faintest of amusement twinkling in his eyes at seeing his face. Kristof would know he needed blood, and so he would give him only a few moments to help him before Orobas attempted to find it himself. Even if he was fighting the darkness on the edges of his vision, his cheeks ached when he wanted to smile and laugh at the situation. Ah, Lydia was just so much fun. He couldn’t wait to have her for a night. All this, it was worth it.

The side of his face resembled a wax statue, melting under the heat of a lamp, so hell only knew what the inside of his mouth looked like. Kristof was aware of what had caused it, after all, he was no stranger to holy water attacks. Orobas had clearly pissed someone off and even though he might have been curious at some point in time, lately he cared for very little. Besides, this was a vampire who was notorious for making enemies so the fact that someone had taken action against him was not exactly an unforeseen circumstance. Over the centuries they had spent in each other's lives, he had never witnessed him in this state for it was always his own maker who dragged him from whatever purgatory he had been in to protect both his life and his deadly reputation. Had to admit that the sight was rather enjoyable, especially when Orobas laughed, a grotesque spectacle of meat and teeth.

There was a moment there when he considered ending his misery and putting him down like a wounded animal, not because he did not think Orobas was strong enough to make it but because there was a part of him that was so sick of sharing this planet with the likes of him. However, his own self preservation outweighed his animosity towards the younger vampire and so he left him alone to fetch for Marie. He had dragged her from Teeth a few days ago and she had been staying like a live in blood doll ever since. Her pale skin showed the marks that Kristof’s hunger had left behind, not a part of her left unblemished. “Sorry honey, this is where you get off.” He smiled at her, sweetly, knowing that Orobas needed to consume her and that she was not going to survive this. Shame, really, since she was quite the snack. Kristof watched as Marie approached the bed and offered her neck to the devil.

Orobas was aware to the dangers of this situation. Any of them who lasted for centuries have at least a few times been in such a place. Circumstances dissolved easily, people back stabbed you, and luck always flipped, even on an immortal. When the throb of hunger struck him, it was like he was put back in a newborn mindset, his features sunk in, the graying around his eyes hollowing out as his body creaked from the intense snarl to his damaged jawline. Through the sharp ache that required his mouth to open and clamp on the young woman was fire, he attacked, with a feral need that swept over his mind. The crunch into her throat was loud and deadly, and the blood, was warm, and rich, a sweetness that took away the burnt scent. The blood leaked through some of the holes in his cheeks. His hand gripped on her wrist out of habit of people always attempting to hit him, pinned it down to the bed. When her heart stopped, when the last spasm came from her fingers, he paused-- closing his eyes as his body tried to heal.

Kristof had witnessed other vampires feed on multiple occasions and it was a sight that he fully enjoyed. There was just something about watching another vampire in their element that got his blood pumping. Marie was not expecting it to be this rough though, poor thing. Girl’s like her were easy to come by. Girls who loved the rush of sharp fangs penetrating their skin and feeling so close to death they could taste it. Eight times out of ten, they were sucked completely dry. It seemed funny to him, how they whimpered and cried when they realized that it was no longer a game. That they were in fact about to die. They would move their weak limbs to try and push him away, but it was always in vain for he was stronger and easily overpowered them. Tonight was no exception only he was not the one doing the act but he was merely a casual observer. He stood close by and watched as she exposed her neck to Orobas, showing her previous marks with a sense of pride that made him actually pity her for a moment. Just for a moment.Then fangs ripped into her like daggers with such force that they crushed the bones of her larynx, and there are so many small bones in the human throat. That was definitely not what she was expecting, and she delivered a gut wrenching sound that would have resembled a scream if her vocal cords had not been cut into ribbons. Blood gushed through the holes of Orobas’ cheeks, soaking the bed sheets with rivers of red. An inconvenience.

One second, and Orobas was on the other side of the bed, his ivory handled dagger drawn from the depths of his coat, he fell a little-- his head dizzy and exhausted as he needed to feed more, but regardless, took a defensive position across from Kristof. “Mhm,” the throaty sound, a demented, broken grin just managed to surface as he barely healed, all of him a mess against the pristine surroundings. His head tilted, observing, though obvious he was far from fine. It would take a long time too from this injury. “Kristof--” his voice rough, he licked the blood on his teeth, and fingered the drip off some down his cheek to bring it to his lips. “Is there a catch to this help, mmm? Back in town it seems. What timing.”

Her heart slowly came to a halt and immediately Orobas moved, standing in a more defensive posture, questioning his reasons for helping him in the first place. “Catch? There’s no catch between friends, is there?” Kristof chuckled, licking his own lips as the smell of death hit his nostrils. Soon enough Marie’s body would start to decompose and her beauty would be a thing he had committed to memory. “I have to say, I was expecting for our first meeting to be a lot more pleasant than this but beggars can’t be choosers.”

Orobas’ feral, distorted grin widened at the mention of friends, mouth stained and gums blackened. Sure. That was one way of putting it. With Francesca and him running through England finding parties and closing the doors to muffle the screams, in watching canvas’ painted in bloody, pretty splatters while they all lounged and drank in the warm summer nights. In causing mayhem with Kristof and Haxian to the point Orobas could actually hold a pang of longing for such a time-- those moments were friendship. Until it broke. Now-- hundred or so years later, he didn’t know what it was, and he wouldn’t ever fully trust it. He attempted to stand without leaning, wobbly, but didn’t make to ruin anything in the space with the blood on his person.

“You know, I had dinner in mind. Something for the four of us to enjoy, catch up under nicer circumstances--” Orobas always spoke the truth, finding it proved better to make his words hold weight. His hand tightened around his ancient weapon, the ivory handle worn over the centuries to match his palm and grip. “Settled too?” So you are here to stay. He glanced around, the burn in his throat ached for more. “Didn’t come find us right away? You surely knew we were here. Haxian will be delighted to see you have survived.”

He would never admit to it, but he liked Orobas’ delight in being the hunter, the devil who took life with gluttonous glee. Some of the vampires he had encountered lately were so damn broody. “Yes, friends.” Kristof repeated, sternly. Surely it had been a long time since they have acted as such. The four of them, immortals following the call of their craving. Overgrown children, slaves to their more primitive emotions. Only the innocence was missing. These primeval Peter Pan’s were dangerous killers with razor sharp fangs that had caused more death and destruction between them than most dictators. “We can always have dinner. You have always been such an entertaining host.” When the other vampire pointed out that he was already settled there was a heavy, sarcastic snicker that expelled from his lips.

“I arrived a few weeks ago. Wanted to be completely settled before announcing my decision to stay. It’s such a nice little town, isn’t it? Full of sweet things like Marie here.” Haxian? Happy to see him? That’s a laugh. “I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic. How is the old brute? I’m assuming he’s not as good looking as he once was?” The way Orobas was standing still was making the entire situation a lot more tense than it needed to be and Kristof found himself rolling his eyes. “For god's sake Orobas, you won’t need to use your precious dagger. Besides, shouldn’t your greatest weapon be inside your mouth?”

“Hm, I like to see my enemy’s pain and shock on their face when I kill them. They never expect a dagger when they are looking at fangs,” Orobas exposed himself without care, it’s why the hunters didn’t always know they were dealing with a vampire over the years. Because Orobas enjoyed hacking people up over feeding on them. He put it away, pulled off his jacket which was a mess, and folded it neatly to show he was conceding his aggression minutely. “Had to be sure. Such old relationships can’t always last with the wicked. May I?” He inquired, and moved towards the bathroom to wash his hands. He didn’t know how he looked at the moment, but the pain still throbbed like he had run into the sun for hours. The holes in his cheeks had somewhat sealed, but it would take days to mend likely.

“Haxian is always beautiful,” Orobas mused, “he’s already begun his transformation, but you know it's a gradual thing. Every day he looks a little different. I find it quite mesmerizing.” He glanced over, red still tinted in his iris’, his words sweet sounding as usual, but rough from his injury. “You will too--” a dark truth spoken, as Orobas found none of his kind’s appearance haunting. “Of course, that will mark our permanent parting. Two elders in the same little city will only bring too much attention.”

“Right, cause you’re freaky like that.” In a way Kristof could understand the fascination that Orobas had with cutting people open since he himself has used many tools for torturing purposes. But when it came down to it, he found more pleasure in tearing them apart with his teeth. There was nothing more satisfying than to feel the crushing of bones in his mouth, the taste of flesh on his tongue but most importantly the eruption of blood from a torn carotid artery. “It has always seemed so primitive, but - to each their own.” He watched as Orobas removed his jacket, folding it neatly and then made his way towards the bathroom, dragging his dirt across the expensive tiles to reach the sink. The way he spoke of Haxian and his current state made him laugh because Kristof, in his own narcissistic mind, could not comprehend how anyone could look at an elder vampire and still call it beautiful.

“Oh, you have always been such a romantic.” Truly Francesca would not share the same opinion of her maker once he started to develop signs of aging. You will too. The thing that has been haunting him lately. One more decade and it would be all over for him. Never, he thought, not daring to speak of it out loud. Not about to share with Orobas that another reason he was here was to find a way to stop this from happening. “Then we should take advantage of these next few years we have left. All of us together.” Kristof sighs, offering Orobas a gentle smile that seemed out of place on his face. “That’s why I came here. I want to be with family before it happens.”

Orobas quirked a brow, and sat down on the edge of the tub, pulling at his shoes, and in general wanting to be cleaned up was very apparent. Though someone who lived in carnage, guts, and blood splatters on a daily night. The dirt infuriated him, and his outfit under his jacket was shockingly expensive and he didn’t want it further soiled. “Romantic? I have no idea what you are saying,” Orobas waved at him lightly, blinded by his ability to care deeply for those closest to him, unable to identify love if it smacked him in the face. It was an ongoing frustration for those around him who have seen him go to the ends of the earth and back for his friends, someone capable of a deep caring that might need a different word to explain it. Kristof sounded like he was in mourning, and Orobas pondered that piece of information. It was a natural progression, it should be understood time for an immortal couldn’t hold human visages.

His head swam for a moment, and he closed his eyes to remove the four Kristof’s from view, and the splitting of the room, his hand went up to his head and held it a moment. “Haxian’s master couldn’t handle being an Elder for long. Vanity, it seems, is a corrupted problem for my bloodline. I’m quite determined to be sure he doesn’t have the same thoughts she did and I am not asked to behead him.” He stilled, regretfully still weakened, and talking ached everything, the pain evident though Orobas didn’t let him stop chatting. “What is a decade to us but a blimp of time easily forgotten,” his gaze lifted, though hazy, still held his usual observing intensity. “Family is all us older creatures have when the world passes by. You should make up with Haxian. You two used to be close— I never did find out why he was mad with you.”

“Yes, romantic. You and Haxian have been together for how long?” Honestly has Orobas ever been without his maker? Kristof didn’t consider himself to have old-fashioned ideas about the way people seemed to form relationships these days, leaving each other behind like waste on the side of the road when they tired of one another. He wasn’t so naïve that he didn’t realize how normal it was, how much easier, to have liaisons that lasted only a night, brief hours in a cold city that would leave nothing behind but scattered memories, nothing substantial or familiar. A few times scattered over the years, and Kristof hadn’t considered anything deeper since he’d come to America. The creatures he met now, would never know him, really; and living that deception would be harder, he knew, if he let emotions get involved. Really, emotions were the death of anyone. Once they appeared, there was little hope of losing them; they could turn the world upside down, make logic look insane. Emotions hurt people as much as they helped them, and Kristof was wondering just when he’d gotten so cynical when he looked at Orobas, caught the odd note in his voice, and wondered if this creature who was as ice-cold inside as he felt sometimes has ever actually felt anything real. Or if all of that passion was reserved only for the one who made him. Feeling, really, was what got you killed. Feeling could make you care about ruined lives, and too much of it and you were gone, lost, swept under a wave of regret that would be impossible to shut down.

He laughed shortly, genuine, shaking his head, that mischievous look on Haxian’s face burned into his memory and he wondered how he looked now - possibly miserably and about ready to end it. “It isn’t just your bloodline.” He confessed without really confessing to anything. Ten years was nothing. To a vampire it might as well be ten days. Kristof felt as if he was going to suffocate under the pressure of his own destiny. “I probably should. Haxian thinks I became too insufferable for his liking. Not that I disagree with him. I’m actually looking forward to catching up with my oldest friend.” He chuckled, partly joking. “You know the main reason I’m here is her, don’t you?”

“I have figured the moment I saw her, that you wouldn’t be far behind,” Orobas said about Francesca, having told her he had expected it sooner. “And I’ve never been without him.” The moment he said such a thing a presence was in the hallway, a flutter of bat wings that creaked in the space like a haunting sound, and materialized into a lean form draped in black attire. Haxian used to be shockingly beautiful, with fair skin that was always translucent and pearl like, eyes bright, and lingering on his prey to draw them in without needing to say a word. Anyone wished to get close, to touch. His youthful turning perpetually gave him an air of arrogance, but now his bones were transformed, bat ears, and fangs always present, the marble-like height to his cheekbones dented, and accentuated in hallowing around his eyes in gray hues.

“We don’t change, so I expect you are the same,” Haxian said easily towards Kristof once all of him solidified into the cramped hall, the boyish energy he had finally gone, leaving a different, darker energy between them. Orobas staggered up from the tub edge, shoes in hand, and made to leave the bathroom. Haxian grabbed his bicep and pulled him towards him, looking at his face, and Orobas only offered a chuckle, and wayward smile that was clearly excruciating. “He didn’t do this, thank him master-- he did feed me.” Haxian looked up, and Orobas made to walk out of the place, pulling against the grip on his arm that finally let go, and lifted his hand in a wave goodbye. “Be seeing you, Kristof,” came Orobas’ sing-song tone. Haxian stood there between them. His expression is complicated. “Thank you--”

“I was biding my time.” The tone was dry and yet it had the usual level of playfulness in which Kristof used to speak of all things. It was this mockery that made it difficult to ever truly recognize his intentions or even his true feelings towards something or someone. The very reason why Francesca believed him to be a cold and cynical creature. For the most part, she was right. “Love and loyalty run deeper than blood.” He offhandedly commented before a wind broke inside the room followed by a swarm of bats. There he was, Haxian, denied of his previous boyish looks. Now he bore resemblance to something out of a horror novel. A flesh and blood Nosferatu. Haxian was not the first elder that Kristof had met during his 490 years of walking this earth but it was the first one he knew prior to the transformation. This was the first time that he came face to face to the thing he would soon become and he was not sure how to process it. “Haxian, I can see you’re still fond of dramatic entrances.” Kristof licked his lips, trying to hide the inner turmoil that he felt as he stared into the eyes of the creature before him. Unrecognizable, monstrous, deformity. Glued to this figure dressed in pitch black as he collected his belongings, his eyes ached. Orobas beckoned Haxian to thank him, even though the action was completely unnecessary. Thank you, he said. A voice still as sweet as ever. A ghoulish contrast to his macabre looks. “You’re welcome. What are friends for?”

“We are not friends,” Haxian said with a confident, cruel edge. Even with his age, he could always be childish, holding grudges. His stance kept himself between Kristof and Orobas who was barely making it out of the place on his own behind him. A clear line, a predatory, obsessive reminder. Orobas was always the one to bring them together. Somehow, Orobas with the most distant of emotions, could manipulate stubborn creatures into playing nice if he wanted. Perhaps that was why, like Kristof said, he always was a decent host. It was clear Haxian had much more to say to Kristof, the conflict shown easily on his face, always expressive, unlike his progeny’s. “Another time--” he spoke of his inner turmoil, certain that Kristof would sense it. Haxian wanted to be angry for an eternity at him, and was stubborn enough to carry on with it. He nodded lightly, and turned to take Orobas home.

Not friends. Kristof’s lips spread into a wicked smile at he words and the saltiness behind them. “Oh Haxian, aren’t we too old to hold grudges?” Of course he was being rather hypocritical since he was perfectly capable of doing the same. Monsters understood monsters after all. Orobas was still weak despite the feeding, more proof that whatever happened to him had taken quite a toll. Still, his curiosity regarding the incident remained muted for he had bigger things to worry about it. Deep down he felt a sting of jealousy while watching them. The devotion they had for one another was both sickening and captivating. The words that came next sounded almost solemn, which made Kristof wonder if Haxian was getting nostalgic now that they were in the same room after so many years.

“It’s good to see you.” A whisper that no human ears could hear but that definitely reached Haxian’s and his progeny. And just like that, they were gone and Kristof was left alone with the memories of the past and the god awful prospect of the future.

#x: kristof #body horror tw #x: venom

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shytalia · 5 years ago

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A Prince and a Pirate’s Fate - Chapter 12

— ♠ — ♠ — ♠ —

Chapter Twelve

Start at Chapter one here:https://shytalia.tumblr.com/post/611878754309079040/a-prince-and-a-pirates-fate-usuk-fanfic

Also available on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shytalia

— ♠ — ♠ — ♠ —

The next day, they left The King’s Grave and set sail into the open seas once more.

Alfred had been given the rest of the day to rest up but given he was as stubborn as he was, he grew restless. Instead, he decided to check on Peter and was thrilled to see the smaller Brit sitting up in bed. In fact, he even looked like he was already healing fairly quickly. He assumed Arthur’s spell really worked wonders.

He greeted the boy and sat beside his bed in the empty chair, glad to see that Peter was excited to see him too. Well, since they both had been given orders to rest and heal up, Alfred saw no point in having to do so separately.

“Here, I’ll show you how to play that card game like I promised.” The Prince smiled at the excited way Peter cheered as he brought out the cards.

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

The next few days went rather well, all things considered. Alfred wasn’t healing as fast as Peter was since Arthur couldn’t perform the spell on him like he could his brother. But, the Brit’s efforts to help him sped up the process incredibly anyway.

Arthur was more or less acting like his usual self, never bringing up anything that had happened at the harbor. Alfred wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. After all, even if he was told not to develop feelings, he yearned to hold Arthur close to him. He would, he told himself, one day he would convince Arthur to be his. Not because of some mark, but because he could feel himself falling hard for the captain. He just wanted Arthur to feel the same.

For now, he would enjoy the small interactions he got with the grumpy Brit.

“Did you hear?” A crew member said within earshot. Alfred pulled at some ropes and tightened the ends as he eavesdropped, not very interested but it was hard not to when the men were so close. “Apparently the Spade prince has gone missing.”

Alfred froze.

“Missing?” The other man said.

“Yes. There’s no word on a ransom yet. You think he finally got offed?”

The two men laughed darkly, but Alfred was doing anything but. Cool sweat dripped down his brow but thankfully he had been sweating before so it was easy to mask.

“I hope not. Think of the money we would get returning the brat back to mommy and daddy.” They laughed more. “Or...I rather think Captain Kirkland would love to get his hands on him. That would be fun to watch, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t want to be the prince if Captain got a hold of me, that’s for sure.”

Alfred felt his stomach twist and fought the urge to puke. He should’ve realized that sooner or later his disappearance would become gossip throughout all the kingdoms. It wasn’t exactly every day a prince up and vanishes for weeks on end, after all.

“Hey! Stop idling and get back to work!” Gilbert yelled across the dock, causing the two gossiping crew mates to flinch and quickly return to their duties. “And you,”

Alfred flinched when he realized those red eyes were on him. They lingered on him uncomfortably and the prince could only wonder what the albino was thinking as he stared. Finally, the tension was broken when the other man opened his mouth for more orders.

“Just ‘cause you’re The Captain’s pet doesn’t mean you get to slack off either. Hurry the hell up!” The albino man barked, his thoughtful gaze replaced by a more stern one. Alfred quickly did as he was told.

Nearly an hour later, Lukas stalked onto the deck and quietly stood beside the commanding pirate.

“Gilbert.” He greeted lowly, though his gaze focused elsewhere. “I apologize for the interference, but I will be taking Alfred for just a short while.”

“Huh? What are you talking about now? He’s got work to do, Captain’s orders that he makes himself useful with the others unless he needs him.” Gilbert frowned.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be long. If The Captain asks, refer him to me. I assure you, I’ll take all the blame.” Lukas replied easily, noticing the look of thought crossing the other man’s face.

“Mn...I guess. But only ‘cause you helped us get The Captain back.” He settled, nodding for the Norwegian to take Alfred. He didn’t bother asking what he was needed for, it was no doubt some sort of ‘divine bidding’. Normally Gilbert would scoff at it, but having the religious figure around did sometimes help the morale of the crew. Who knew having a neutral party to spill all your sins out to could help a bunch of misfits?

“Thank you.” Was the basic reply before Lukas moved forward, walking quietly towards the sweating teen as he moved a heavy crate. “Alfred,”

“Gods!” Said man turned around with startled, wide eyes. He hadn’t even heard the other blonde come up behind him. “Oh man, it’s just you. Lukas, isn’t it? What’s up?”

“Follow me, I wish to talk to you for a bit. It’s alright, I’ve already spoken to Gilbert.” Lukas waved his hand in a welcoming motion before turning around and leading the way below the deck.

Alfred was hesitant to follow but a quick glance in the albino’s direction, and the nod he received from him, allowed his feet to move and follow. He trailed behind the shorter blonde curiously until they came to a small room covered in idols and trinkets. There were symbols of the gods all around and even a small statue of the goddess on a table. She was surrounded with candles and incense, obviously meant to replicate an actual temple and altar. For being on a pirate ship, Alfred had to give it some credit as it really wasn't half bad.

“So...what did you need to talk to me about?” He couldn’t help the edge in his voice. He was nervous, unsure about what Lukas could possibly want from him. He had never spoken to him before, after all, so why now all of a sudden?

Instead of answering, the Norwegian closed the door and motioned for his guest to sit in one of the chairs by a small table.

“There’s no need to be so nervous,” Lukas told him. “You’re Arthur’s now, so no one on this ship will harm you.” Not unless the British captain wanted them to, of course. But, he’d leave that part out. So far, their leader had shown no signs of wanting that. “Gilbert was rough on you today, please relax. Here, have some tea.”

A cup was placed in front of Alfred and steaming liquid poured into it. Alfred wasn’t the biggest fan of tea, but he did learn that Arthur absolutely adored the stuff. Plus, he guessed he shouldn’t be too picky considering what they had was limited until they reached their next port.

“Thanks. Yeah, Gilbert can be kind of an ass.” He said it before he could think better of it and bit his lip, hoping he wouldn’t be ratted out.

“Gilbert isn’t as bad as he seems.” Lukas countered quietly. “He is in a position of authority, after all. His job is to ensure the work is done and done well. But he is a nice enough man at the end of the day, the two of you may even get along rather well.” The shorter man took his place in the chair opposite of Alfred, sitting down and sipping his own drink.

The prince snorted at that. “Yeah, sure.”

“He’s much like Arthur in that aspect. You enjoy The Captain’s company, do you not?”

Alfred nearly spat out his tea at that. “H-Huh? Oh, well, I mean--” He stammered. He did enjoy being around Arthur, more than he probably should considering he was a pirate. This whole mission of his wasn’t just about convincing him to come back to the castle with him anymore. No, now it was even more. Alfred wanted Arthur to be happy and safe. He wanted to love him and for the Brit to love him back. “Yes, I do.” He croaked out.

“I thought so,” Lukas said evenly, as if the man across from him wasn’t a confused mess of nerves and emotions.

The silence between them was stale for a while. Lukas made no more efforts to make conversation and Alfred was swimming in his thoughts.

Was it really that obvious that he liked Arthur? Of course to the captain it would be more obvious, but they had so many moments in private together that would make it clear. But what about the other crew members? Did they know? They must, if Lukas did. Though the man was more observant than the others.

Maybe Arthur had told him? The two talked like good friends would, it wouldn’t be a leap in logic to think that he had simply been gossiped about. If that was the case...what had Arthur said? Had he made fun of him for his feelings? Did he confess some sort of attraction as well?

Alfred was nearly ready to explode from all these different scenarios playing through his head that he didn’t notice Lukas staring at him until he spoke.

“Arthur still doesn’t know who you are, does he?”

“What?” Alfred was snapped from his thoughts and his eyes met with Lukas’s.

“Excuse me for being blunt, your majesty.”

The Norwegian’s words chilled the prince to his bones. A rush of panic and fear washed over him like the tides, crashing into him and knocking the wind from his lungs. He had no time to recover before the other man continued.

“You’ve done very well to hide your mark from him for this long. But tell me, what is your plan when he does find out?”

Alfred’s throat went dry. Lukas knew who he was. Lukas knew and he could tell everyone, he could tell Arthur! How long had he known? Why hadn’t he told them yet?

“Please...don’t tell him.” Alfred’s voice was so quiet it was barely even a whisper.

Lukas seemed to ponder the words for a moment and nodded. “I haven’t told him yet, have I? But I suggest you figure out what you’re going to do when he does find out.” He told him pointedly. “Do not make it hurt worse for him than it already will.”

“I-I don’t want to hurt him!” Alfred exclaimed quickly. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Arthur. “H-He’s...he’s everything I could’ve wanted. No, no he’s more. Oh my gods,” He whispered, eyes staring in some mix between fear and hope as he looked to the statue of the goddess on the makeshift altar. Some sense of realization washed over him. “I’m falling in love with him. I want him to be my queen but I want him to be happy... to be happy with me.”

Lukas was characteristically quiet for a while before he spoke. “Do you know where we are headed now?”

Alfred looked back over to the man in front of him, eyes desperate for something he couldn’t touch. “No.” He answered, wondering why he would bring that up amidst everything that had just been said.

Lukas hummed softly. “We are sailing to Britannia.” He could tell by the look on the prince’s face that the name rang a bell, but he couldn’t quite place it. He took it upon himself to elaborate. “Britannia is the island Arthur is from. He is going home.” It was no doubt that almost losing Peter ruffled up some sort of homesickness for the Brit. “This will not be a simple visit. Prince Alfred,” he saw the way the title made the other man stiffen. “If you truly want Arthur to be happy, you will need to see why he despises you so much.”

Alfred nodded to show he was listening even though his voice was stuck in this throat. He swallowed and forced it out. “I don’t want him to hate me.”

“I know you don’t.”

“How?” He couldn’t help but ask. Everything in him was swirling in confusion, most of all why Lukas would help him and not tell Arthur who he really was. “Why are you doing this? Why not tell Arthur the truth about me?”

The smaller man seemed to ponder this for a moment, but he was quick to answer. “The Goddess has declared that the two of you are the rightful heirs of the Spade Kingdom. I heard her call and answered it. Those years ago when I assisted in freeing Arthur from your royal guards was because she requested me to.”

“What? But if Arthur was going to be brought to the castle, why free him? Shouldn’t the goddess want him to be there as soon as possible since she gave him the mark to begin with?” Alfred asked, bewildered. He never said he fully understood the gods and their ways, but giving Arthur the mark only to keep them apart was incomprehensible to him.

“I can’t speak for her,” Lukas admitted. “However, from where I stand, it seems like it was the best course of action at the time.” Seeing the confusion furrow deeper in Alfred, he continued. “Think. What would have happened had Arthur been dragged against his will to the castle then? There would be no hope of redemption for you in his eyes. Only hatred.”

“But I didn’t do anything! All I have is a mark that matches his, I don’t want to force him into anything.”

“That doesn’t matter because it isn’t your choice. Tradition would have been followed regardless of what you or he wanted. Arthur would have been crowned, but in doing so he would have lost his ship, his crew, his freedom, and most likely his brother.”

“Why would he lose Peter? He can come live in the castle with us!” He would love having the kid around.

Lukas didn’t reply for a while, sitting there quietly until Alfred shifted nervously in his seat. He chose not to answer the question and settled for something else. “If you want a chance at love with Arthur, you will have to delve into his darkness...and you may not like what you see.” His voice was low but clear, watching the reaction Alfred gave him carefully. The younger boy looked just as confused, if not now scared, as before. “The Goddess asked for my aid in this journey but in the end, it is up to you and Arthur to create your own fates.”

Alfred knew what he wanted, he wanted Arthur to be his but he also wanted him to be happy. He promised himself he would make sure it happened no matter what.

“Here, keep this.” Lukas pulled the necklace from his neck, offering it over to his guest who took it with hesitant hands. “You know what it is already, but for clarity’s sake, it’s the symbol of The Goddess. Keep it on you and let it remind you of what you want your fate to be. May She bless whatever path you choose to follow.”

--- ♠ --- ♠ --- ♠ ---

The conversation with Lukas left Alfred anxious and paranoid. Surely if one person recognized him then someone else would eventually too. There was also the overwhelming thought that his identity would get to Arthur somehow as well, which was the last thing he wanted. He would tell him the truth eventually, he had to, but he wanted to do it on his own terms. He wanted Arthur to be able to forgive him.

These worries plagued his thoughts for the rest of the trip. Over two weeks later they landed on the coast of a green island, by a small, sea-side town. Their large ship looked painfully out of place parked at the humble dock, surrounded only by small boats used for fishing.

The crew members were allowed off the ship, but were instructed specifically to be ‘well-behaved’. Alfred found the command a little humorous considering they were pirates, after all, but no one had complained and even acted as if they had expected it. They respected their captain enough to listen.

“Gilbert,” Arthur voiced after having sought out the man on the deck of the ship. “You’re in charge of The Siren’s Arrow until I return. I trust you’ll keep everything in order.”

“Of course, Cap. Leave it to the awesome me!”

“Good. Alfred, you’re coming with me. Here, carry this.” The Brit handed the younger man a bag to sling around his back before he looked to his brother. Thankfully he had healed up quite nicely and looked alright to go out for the day. “Peter, are you ready?”

“Yeah!” The boy cheered excitedly, basically jumping in anticipation. “I love when we get to come back home.”

Arthur offered the smaller blonde a slight smile before motioning them to follow, stepping off the ship and into the town. They spent little time there, however, as Arthur continued onward. He guided them on a small, dirt path out of the little village and through some trees, leading out to fields and fields of long, green grass.

Alfred held his breath seeing it. It was like a scene from a painting, where the grass gently licked the blue skyline. It was like stepping into a rural portrait in one of the castle halls. But actually being here was so much better than seeing it on a canvas. Here he could smell the salty air and feel the grass dance against his fingertips as he reached out to it. It was a kind of calm that he had never experienced before and suddenly, he found himself staring out in front of him to Arthur and Peter.

The two brothers walked side by side, Peter eagerly skipping along beside Arthur who, every so often, gave the boy a content smile. It was picture perfect. It looked right seeing them together here. Like they were meant to be here and nowhere else.

It wasn’t until the pirate turned his head and gave him a confused look that Alfred noticed he had stopped walking completely, too enraptured by the sight of Arthur being so blissfully happy to even move.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

The words were genuine, their concern and worry piercing Alfred’s heart and pulling him in deeper. He didn’t want this to end, he realized. He wanted to see that peaceful look in Arthur’s eyes every day of his life. He wanted to see Arthur be this happy every waking moment.

“Alfred?” Peter had stopped now too, confused as he turned around just as his older brother had. “Are you okay?”

Something caught in his throat and kept the words from coming out, but he managed to nod and continue onward. He caught the troubled glance Arthur gave him at that moment but the Brit didn’t voice his concerns, instead he turned and continued their pace up the shallow hills.

Eventually, Alfred saw a small building come into view. Sitting atop a hill, only a short distance away from the calm waters was a modest home. It was hardly anything to be proud of, not looking even big enough for a small family. Still, he had to admit, it had a certain charm to it that drew him in.

Peter cheered when the house came into view and he ran the rest of the way to it, bounding through the door without knocking. Alfred was worried he might be busting in on a kind family, but Arthur surprisingly didn’t mind, so he guessed his fears were misplaced.

Catching up to the boy, Alfred glanced around and found they were the only people there. The inside of the building was just as humble and simple as the outside. The rooms were small and decorated with only simple, wooden furniture, the only pops of color being handmade items like pillows and blankets. It was the stark opposite of the castle back home filled with gold and riches.

Yet, this didn’t seem to bother Arthur or Peter at all. The two of them making themselves at home as if they’d lived there their entire lives.

Then, it hit him. Lukas had said they were headed to The Island of Britannia, where Arthur had been born and raised. Could this really be where the extravagant captain had come from?

“Here, let me see the bag.” The Brit pulled at the sack still hung around the prince’s shoulders, easily pulling it off and setting it on the kitchen table. The wooden piece of furniture nearly took up the entire room, making it appear even smaller than it already did. He dug through it and pulled out a small box of tea leaves and a pot, setting them on the table before moving to the stove to start a fire. “Alfred, will you take that bucket and get some water? There’s a pump just outside, around back.”

The prince dutifully nodded, willing to do anything to keep Arthur this happy. “No problem, I’ll be back in no time, Cap!” He grabbed the bucket from its spot and went back outside, rounding the building and easily finding the pump Arthur had mentioned.

The water pump wasn’t the only thing behind the home, however, and Alfred couldn’t help but stop and stare. Resting, neatly cleaned and well cared for were four graves lined in a row, each marked by a slab of stone. They were shadowed by a large tree, its branches leaning over them as if to shield them from the sun.

He gripped the bucket a little tighter in his hand as he looked them over. It wasn’t a feeling of fear, despite the fact they were utterly alone and no one would hear him if he did scream. No, the stones carved with the names of those past sent a wave of heartache over him. He had no idea why, he didn’t know these people or how they had died. For all he knew, they were awful people or they had lived long, fulfilling lives. But something in him told him neither of those things were true.

“That’s our family.”

Alfred jumped, turning to see Peter standing beside him. Despite what he said, he still held a joyful grin on his young face.

“This one here is our mum,” The boy walked over and patted one of the stones under his small hand. He gave the name marker a wide smile before motioning the others beside it. “And these are our big brothers! This one’s Alistair, he is the oldest.” He pointed at each grave as he named them off, not bothered at all by the heart-rending act. Did Peter not feel the sense of gloom Alfred was feeling? He looked as happy as ever. “And this is Owen, he’s the next oldest. And this one’s Liam, he’s the third!”

The young boy grinned over at Alfred as he introduced each passed family member. The realization that Arthur didn’t have just one brother but four shook him to his core. How had he never heard these names before? Why was Arthur’s truth not being told to him? Did his parents really not think it was important to tell him about his future husband’s family?

Peter didn’t notice the forlorn in Alfred’s eyes and continued anyway.

“Next is Arthur, but you know him already. He’s mum’s fourth son, and then there's me! I’m the last!” He pointed at himself excitedly. “Arthur takes care of me now, but we like to come back and visit our mum and our brothers sometimes, when we can.” He explained, as if it were that easy. As if this was the same as a small walk down the road to visit your favorite neighbor.

The ease in which Peter talked about his family broke Alfred’s heart to pieces. He wondered, how did it make Arthur feel?

“It’s really pretty here and I miss it a lot sometimes. But, Arthur says we can’t stay too long. There’s a lot of royal ships around, I think they look for him here because they know we always come back.” Peter sat on the ground in front of the graves, bringing his knees up and resting his arms on them. “I don’t really understand why they want him so bad. I mean, if he doesn’t want to marry some prince then he shouldn’t have to, right? They can’t make him marry someone. That’s not how love works. You’re supposed to love the person you marry, aren’t you?”

Alfred felt his hands shaking. He wondered how a child no older than twelve could really be sitting there in front of his dead family and be so content with the chaos that surrounded him. The chaos that his family was causing.

“Alfred? Aren’t you supposed to be getting some water? Arthur will get cranky if you take too long and he doesn’t get his tea.” Peter warned, snapping the prince out of his emotions long enough to walk over to the pump and set the bucket in front of it. He pushed it until the water started to leak out of it, filling the container with clear liquid.

“Are you coming inside?” Alfred forced himself to ask, his voice strained from the emotional burden he was feeling.

“Nah, not yet. I want to sit out here a little longer. But I’ll come in once the tea is done.” The boy smiled warmly.

Alfred only nodded and carried the bucket back towards the house.

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