#they found in my blood vessels didn’t go far enough to spread and if they did that the iodine destroys them

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

i hate going “hey i might not be up to hanging out im just not doing well mentally” but also i know if im either constantly panicking or completely out of it while we’re hanging out then it won’t go well

[plus-size-reader]

Just a Kid

Daryl Dixon x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2453 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Taking Lydia in as your own with Daryl

Hi, I couldn’t get this concept out of my head. 

—————————————————————————————————

“She’s just a kid, D” you hummed, carefully working at the knot in his neck that he’d been complaining about for days.

You knew that this thing with the girl, and Jesus, and all these people wearing faces was really starting to wear on Daryl’s nerves.

You could tell, because every night when he came back to your house, he was even more tense than the last and at this point, you were really starting to get concerned that he would burst a blood vessel.

There was just too much going on right now.

...but you knew what you had to do.

Lydia was just a child, and even if her people were the purest evil you could ever imagine, that didn’t mean that she was. If nothing else, she was little more than a battered little girl who had never known any better.

That was how you saw her, and you knew Daryl did too.

He just wasn’t ready to take on so much yet, and honestly, he didn’t know if he could. It was hard for him to have to take over all this at Hilltop, and that girl they’d brought was only making it worse.

“You still on that?” he grumbled back, really hoping that you would have gotten over this pipe dream of yours already.

The two of you had talked this conversation to death, and while you knew there was a good chance that nothing was going to change, you would continue to do so until he changed his mind.

Ever since she had come to know this group, you had gotten it in your head that the two of you could give her the home that she had never had but Daryl wasn’t so easily convinced. 

It just seemed like more than you were ready for.

He saw that look in your eyes, when she was finally safe behind those gates, but then you’d gone and made it even worse.

You met her.

Maybe it hadn’t been the greatest idea, and maybe it wouldn’t help but you knew that at least you could try to understand better.

You could only imagine how a girl in her position would be feeling. You knew that if you were her, you would have been absolutely terrified.

After all, she was surrounded by strangers, in an unforgiving and new environment.

It was possible that one friendly face would make all the difference to her and as it happened, you had one of the friendliest faces around here.

If anyone was going to get through to her, it was you.

Course, Daryl was against the idea from the start but you knew that no one else was going to stick their neck out for her if you two didn’t. That made it more than worth it to you, even if no one else understood.

She didn’t say a word for the first few days.

Lydia had nothing to say to you and frankly, you couldn't blame her for that. You were a stranger, the enemy as far as she knew, and there was no reason she should have trusted you at all, but that wasn’t always going to be the case.

The more you came, the more she realized that you may have been the only person willing to stick their neck out for her. Once she decided that you weren’t going to kill her, or sell her out, it was pretty much settled.

You needed to help her.

It wasn’t up for debate, but for some reason, convincing Daryl was proving to be an even more difficult task.

“We aren’t her parents, it ain’t our place” he tried, desperately hoping that you would see how insane what you were proposing was. Still, you weren’t letting up, and he knew you well enough to know what that meant.

You were invested.

You were going to do whatever you could to get through to her.

Perhaps it was because you two found yourself comparing her to Daryl or perhaps it was your own soft spot for kids.

In any case, the damage was done.

“She doesn’t have parents D, that’s why she needs us” you sighed, leaning down to rest fully into his back, your head nestled in the space between his shoulder and his neck. It gave you just enough leverage to look at him.

It was hardly up for debate.

Lydia’s mother saw her as little more than an asset, something to abuse and control. After all the things you’d endured with Daryl, it made her well being that much more personal, for both of you.

It took months to get Daryl to tell you about his past.

He trusted you more than anyone else in the world, and his greatest pain was still too difficult to share until he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

You had no doubt that the hold this girl’s mother had on her was even stronger.

At least Daryl had Merle, he knew how much of an asshole his dad was.

Lydia was brainwashed.

You would be lucky if you were ever able to break whatever her mother had done to her, due to the extreme circumstances, but you knew that you had to try.

No one deserved the way she had been treated, and you wanted to make sure that she understood it wasn’t her fault.

Her mother was cruel, and there was nothing more to it than that.

The best way to prove that to her would be giving her a real home, proving to her that not everyone was going to treat her the way that she did. Maybe, if she felt safe, she would finally start to open up.

When the two of you first met, Daryl hardly spoke to you and when he did, it was always in a gruff, unfriendly tone. It took him some time to warm up to you and once he had, that tone warmed up to one of love.

It just took time.  

The same thing could apply to Lydia, if you just gave her some time.

If nothing else, it had to be worth a shot.

She was worth it.

“You really wanna do this?” he hummed, after what felt like an eternity of silence between the two of you.

Daryl heard you, he got the message, he just couldn't be sure that being with you, and him, would be enough.

He knew what it was like to be in her position, and he knew how hard it was to let people in. It was possible that she would never allow herself to be cared for in the way you wanted to, and he didn’t want you getting your hopes up.

You would be crushed if she rejected your offer, but it couldn’t hurt.

Even if she wanted nothing to do with either of you, at least you tried to give her something. That was much more than anyone else in the world had ever done for her.

“Yeah, I do. I really do” you smiled, not even bothering to hide the wide grin that spread across your face at the idea of what he was saying. It wasn’t exactly a yes, but it was as much of a yes as you were going to get from Daryl.

It was more than enough.

At the end of the day, even if it was a bad idea, Daryl knew better than to argue with you. What you were suggesting was crazy, but it was so very you that he couldn’t even worry about it.

He fell in love with you and that heart of gold of yours, so if this was what it was telling you to do, he owed it to you to let you do what you thought was right.

You had to, just as he had to.

...and of all the crazy ideas you’d ever had, this was hardly the most dangerous one.

All you wanted to do now was give a little girl a place to live and a family, it wasn’t like you were suggesting some kind of suicide mission. You and Daryl had faced far worse than a child, desperate for belonging and acceptance.

What you were doing was new for all of you.

~

Lydia wasn’t sure, at first.

After all, she had never really had parents and you and Daryl had certainly never been parents.

It just wasn’t something you had any experience with.

However, with all that you’d lost recently, it didn’t make sense to turn her away too. She was a product of her circumstances and nothing more. It wouldn’t be fair to make Lydia pay for the sins of her mother.

Instead, you chose to put all your effort into making sure she never felt like a burden again.

You knew that she blamed herself, in part, for what her mother had done. Henry was gone, Tara was gone, Enid was gone, it was just too much.

You’d lost too many people in the months it had been and you weren’t interested in losing any more.

You certainly weren’t interested in letting a little girl take the blame for what her people had done, not when she first arrived, and not now.

Lydia was good, she was trying, and that wasn’t something you were going to debate.

Thankfully, that was something you and Daryl could both agree on, without all the initial back and forth.

You were both winging it, of course, but you knew that you had to try and stick up for her. Even the smallest gesture would make a world of difference.

She deserved to feel safe for once.

When you and Daryl had decided to take her in, it wasn’t supposed to be perfect. You weren’t going to move into a little cottage surrounded by a white picket fence, with flowers and a dog.

It was making the best of whatever shit show situation you’d been dealt.

It was all you knew to do.

“You wanna help me with this?” you hummed, addressing your words to the young girl at your side.

What you were asking wasn’t really all that much of a question but considering that you were sewing up a huge hole in Daryl’s button up, she wasn’t interested.

“D does it himself, mostly, but he’s clumsy about it. The stitching always comes undone” you reminded, thinking about the last time he’d offered to stitch up a hole in your jeans, and it had unraveled by the end of the day.

He meant well, he really did, but he had never really had the patience for more delicate things like this. Sewing of any kind, even stitches in flesh, had never really been his foray.

...but that was okay.

You told him that you would take care of this, and he could pick up the slack somewhere else, making dinner or cleaning blood and dirt out of the laundry.

“I don’t know how” she tried, looking at you in the way she often would when she ran into something she had never done before. The two of you’d had this same conversation when you suggested she go to school with the other children.

She didn’t even know how to read when she came to you, and now, she is making great progress.

It was just a matter of learning what she had never had a chance to learn before.

“I’ll teach you, it's easy” you smiled, handing her the garment with one hand, and the needle with the other.

She looked unsure, lost even, but she took it nonetheless.

“Hold the fabric with this hand, and move the needle with the other, up and down in as straight a line as you can manage” you instructed, keeping it as simple as you possibly could until she got the hang of it.

You knew this was probably a tad bit overwhelming, and if she didn't go it right the first time, she would get discouraged but luckily, years by Daryl’s side had taught you a patience that nothing else ever could.

You could sit here all day if you had to, as long as she got the hang of it.

Lydia had been living with her pack of skin walkers all this time, only doing what she was told, but that wasn’t the life she was living now.

She was part of a community, and she had a family, but that also meant that she had to learn to protect and provide for herself when you weren’t there. If something ever happened to you or Daryl, she still had to live.

Her clothes couldn’t be ripped or ruined, her wounds couldn’t stay open to fester, and eventually, she would need to cook and clean for herself too, but for now, a helping hand was all you needed.

People were what kept your communities running, and your home was no different. You and Daryl were a team, communicating without words most of the time, and she was part of that now.

She was part of the team.

“Like that?” she tried, hoping that some part of what she was doing was right. There was no real way to tell but you didn’t seem upset so that had to be a good sign.

It was a strangely domestic task for her, one that brought back memories of her people, her old people, sewing up masks of tanned human skin. The motion was the same, the idea was the same, but there was something normal about this.

She was just fixing a shirt.

There was nothing volatile or aggressive about this, and it wasn’t for anything other than someone she cared for. That made it a little easier to stomach than any other chore may have been.

This was for Daryl after all, and if anyone had earned something like this, it was him.

Lydia wasn’t blind.

She knew what the two of you had done for her, always making sure she had something to eat and sticking up for her when the others got a little too comfortable with their distaste for her.

“Exactly, just a little closer together” you prompted, smiling when she did just as you asked. She was a quick learner, and you knew that she could do this.

This was normal, real, and the sooner she learned that she could live a completely normal life, the sooner she would really adapt to life in a community like this one.

“Once you’re done, you can help Daryl with dinner. I’m sure he’d love the help”

It was hardly where she expected to be, but it was more than where she’d been. At least, with you and Daryl, Lydia knew that she was safe.

[loomis-maxima]

3:39ᴀᴍ (Carpe Diem)

Part of the Carpe Diem series Warnings ;; mentions of blood, death/murder, obsession, stalking, idk it's kinda dark, if you're uncomfortable with that kinda stuff, don't read ahead A/N ; chapter 2 coming soon~ Pairing; Changbin x reader Word count ; 810

3:39am. That’s the time that he read on the screen of the phone he held in his hand as he walked through the street, your phone to be exact. How else was he going to know where Minjun would be? He couldn’t use his own phone, he didn’t have access to your passwords, and checking Minjun’s Instagram story updates on his own account might look weird, especially after the situation in the club. That’s why he had to take your phone when he saw you left it on the coffee table before heading to bed. You made his task so much easier, and he thanked you endlessly in his head for that. Sending Minjun a message to meet him somewhere with the pretences that it was you, was far too easy, and Minjun was far too enthusiastic about it. That just made Changbin’s blood boil even more. Waiting down the alley way where Changbin had asked Minjun to come to, he wondered how the other man was so stupid, drunk or maybe a mix of both. To blindly agree to meeting someone in a dark alleyway at this time. As Changbin thought to himself, he realised something; Minjun’s intentions would obviously be much darker than he had first thought. Why else would he meet a girl in this dingy alley alone? Changbin felt his blood come to a boil at that point. He had to get rid of him. He was a danger to you, a danger to you and Changbin. That was something he couldn’t have. Hearing footsteps come down the alleyway caused his head to snap upwards, thankful for the lack of light that was around him right now. He watched as Minjun’s frame came closer to him, face lit up by the phone screen in his hand. Changbin prayed to himself that he wasn’t on the phone with anyone, that could send this whole plan out the window. Taking a deep breath, Chanbin pulled the ballistic switchblade from his pocket while slipping your phone into his back pocket as Minjun was just a few feet away from him. Changbin had already checked this alley many times for cameras during his.. Late night adventures, to know that they were completely out of view of everyone and everything. Once Minjun got close enough Changbin could tell he wasn’t on the phone, ‘that makes my life easier’ he thought to himself before taking some steps to leave him infront of Minjun. Once Minjun realised it was Changbin waiting for him, and not you, confusion hit him. “Dude what the fuck-’’ was all Minjun managed to get out before Changbin plunged the knife into his stomach before twisting it, “You really shouldn’t have touched her, if you didn’t, I wouldn’t have to do this’’ he said as he pulled he knife from Minjun. The taller man looked down to Changbin, fear spread across his face in contrast to Changbin’s stoic stare. Taking advantage of Minjun’s weak state, Changbin snatched the phone from his hand, quickly deleting the message from your Instagram before the screen locked. As Minjun hit the floor from the quick blood loss thanks to Changbin managing to hit a blood vessel, Changbin put Minjun’s phone into an empty pocket of his jeans before kneeling down to his body. “You should’ve stayed at home tonight.’’ Changbin muttered before quickly taking the knife to Minjun’s throat and slicing it wide open, moving backwards as he did to avoid the blood splatter hitting him and once it was safe, he wiped the knife clean on Minjun’s shirt, satisfied with how quick and easy this time was, although something in him was screaming for a murder that he could drag out, for a time when he could savour in the other person’s suffering. But he didn’t have time for that tonight. He had to get back to you. The second Changbin had finished what he set out to do, he made his way out of the alley, opposite in the direction he came. After a while of walking, he found himself walking over a bridge to finally be reunited at your apartment. Taking notice of the deep water under him, he tossed Minjun’s phone to the bottom of the river, not stopping in his tracks for a split second and continued walking to your home, the knife that was once in his hands now replaced with your keys, as if he had just been out for a late night

walk. If only you knew what he would and could do for you.. The only thing worrying him, was that he could hurt you.. And that’s something he didn’t want, but the monster inside of him was too powerful sometimes.. Changbin just had to control himself, even though he was never able to do that before. But he had to. For you.

[pleasantanathema]

Graves into Gardens | Reiner Braun x Reader | Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: Blinding Pleasures 

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Modern AU, spoilers up to season four, slight manga spoilers (only by including characters met later), captivity, mentions of death, violence enemies to lovers, angst, smut, rough sex, hate sex,

Word Count: 6.5k

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

          He hadn’t let you go, not completely, fingers still timid and loose against your skin, in your hair. But your palms on his cheeks were so solid, warm, like you were grounding him, fingertips molded against his face with purpose.

           Your lips were plump, swollen, parted like they were begging for a bit of mercy from his brutishness.  

           He needed more. He wanted to pour more apologies into your mouth and have you drink them down like they were sacrament.

           Thoughts of you consumed him. He hadn’t even realized it until this moment—every waking thought, every dream, every nightmare, even the flashes when he slipped away into a state of unreality; it all orbited around you. Ever since you fell back into his life again, nothing else had mattered. He’d gone from wishing for your death to dying to feel your breath against him.

           “Reiner…” you purred, the desperation from before now bleeding into desire, “I want more .”

           “More?” he felt your thumbs at the edge of his smirk, a thrum of confidence building in his chest, “What was it you called me? Pathetic, miserable, deplorable…and now you want more?”

           He was grinning, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hear you acknowledge how your tongue had tried to wound his pride the night he found you behind bars; he wanted to hear you admit to wanting, needing him, despite his wickedness. Or maybe because of it.

           “Please.”

           Your voice was soft, simple.  

           The power between the two of you shifted, he could feel it. Your hatred was still simmering in the air, your earlier screams still caught in silent echoes of the room, but he’d shifted the tides when he’d claimed your mouth.

           He knew you hated him for countless reasons: his arrogance, his deceit, his bloodied hands, but more than anything you hated him because you wanted him . You craved for him to shatter you and take up residence in your remains, to fill the cracks with his presence, to both destroy and become the mirror you saw in one another.  

           “Please,” you whispered the word again like it was shameful, and it was.

           He pulled your hands away from his face.

           “I never thought you’d be one to beg.”

           “I’m not—,” you scoffed, an indignant little huff into the air.

           “If that’s not what you call begging, then I can’t wait to see what you’re like when you’re desperate.”

           His full grin was back, something bubbling inside of him that had gone dormant for years. That happiness he felt back in Paradis, that pride that had once gotten him into so much trouble. It was surfacing again—paler in comparison, but still present nonetheless.

           You caught his infectious confidence, something devious flashing in your eyes.

           “Then make me desperate,” your tongue was coy, fingers pulling at his shirt. He’d always liked those words: make me . He enjoyed them because they were an easy command. The strength in his hands and his body allowed for him to break anything he wanted. Even if his mind was poisoned, he could still dominate you like he wanted to. He could control you under the weight of his hands.

           He stepped back toward his bed, capturing your wrist to have you follow. The mattress was silent under his weight, the springs too accustomed to nights of fitful sleep to complain. You stood between his spread thighs, still clad in Annie’s clothing, still wearing that white armband that had been forced onto you.

           “I’ve seen you wear so many things,” his hands were on your hips, pads of his fingers already dipping beneath the worn shirt, tracing patterns onto your stomach, “but this is the worst.”

           “Then take it off.”  

           He had half a mind to make you say please, but he was too eager to finally see you naked.

           Slowly, he peeled away your layers, taking his time to brush his knuckles across every fresh piece of hot skin that was revealed. When your breasts fell in front of his face, when the curve of your thighs melted into his hands, he suddenly wished he had claws to scour you, mark you, carve his name into your skin and own you.

           He knew you were having the same thoughts, could feel your nails gliding, nicking at his skin as you tore his own threads away. His hands met yours as you both worked to pull his pants down his thighs, his hard-earned muscle making the endeavor slightly difficult.

           Then, he was pulling you into his lap, his mouth greedy against your skin. He peppered kisses along your neck, your shoulders, sinking his teeth into the slope of your throat. You were moaning, body settling against his, your too-hot breasts bouncing against his chest, slick pussy pressing against his briefs. He slid a palm up your back, fingers spread wide, eager to twist in your hair again.

           “I’ll make you mine,” he mumbled against spit-slick skin, his mouth biting into your neck, sucking until delicate vessels burst and spread into dark colors of his creation.

            “I’m not something you can own,” you punctuated your words by knotting your fingers into his hair, mimicking him and tugging at the soft blonde roots, guiding him to patches of virgin flesh still left unmarked by his mouth.

           He took special care to kiss and lave over the circular scar on your shoulder. His brain felt like flickering again as he traced over that forgotten memory of yours with his fingers, but you were centering him, your nails were biting into the sinews of his back, pulling him closer, hips rolling in his lap.

           “But you’re something I can take.”  

           “Fuck,” you sounded breathless, head tipping forward so you could scatter wet, open-mouthed kisses along his cheekbones, his temples, his ears. It was like you couldn’t get enough of him. He groaned when he felt your hot tongue dip into the muscle of his shoulder, only to gasp when you bit him more viciously than he had you.

           “Easy, princess, you don’t have to hurt me.”

           He wrapped his fist in your hair to tug you away, hissing with a mixture of pain and pleasure when your teeth scraped across his skin.

           “Don’t call me—” his other hand engulfed your breast, thumb rolling and pinching at your nipple, causing your complaint to be caught between your teeth as you hissed, “—I want to hurt you.”

           There was an intensity steaming within your eyes as you looked down upon him. You meant those words, and he couldn’t blame you for it. He’d hurt you so many times, the hands on your body were stained with blood and steeped in apologies he owed you.

           “I’m always hurting for you.”

           He bucked his hips, letting his aching cock slide against the folds of your bare sex through his briefs. His stomach was in knots; he still couldn’t believe this was happening, he was anxious, but lust and pride were making his brain foggy, making his body hurt.

           “I…” he kneaded at the soft flesh of your tit in his palm, encouraging some jolts of pleasure to race under your skin as you decided on your words.

           “I like it when you’re speechless, princess. ” He put emphasis on the pet name, reminding you that he could call you whatever he fucking wanted when he had you on his lap, in his arms, in his hands.

           Ferocity was revving inside you. He knew you didn’t like that moniker, it was something he used to call you years ago. He did it to knock you down a notch, to get under your nerves and pull at the frayed ends because he had an inkling you were just a little princess who liked to be spoiled underneath all your pride.

           You were like him; you enjoyed putting up a fight, but in the end, you wanted to be broken.

           Your fist wound itself around his throat, your thumb putting pressure on the fragile column of muscle and bone. He could feel his chest tighten as his breath was caught under your hand.

           “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

           He would’ve laughed if you weren’t bearing down on his neck.

           Reiner let you push him onto his back, grunted when you continued to pull the breath from his body when your mouth crushed against his. He felt your thumb pet at a raised scar on the left side of his throat.

           “What’s that?” you mumbled it more to yourself, lips moving between your fingers to kiss and suck at the offending piece of flesh.

           He was harder than he’d ever been, cock straining toward his stomach because you just had to have your hot little mouth sucking at that spot—

           “It’s where you fucking cut me.”

            “Oh.”

           He took in a deep breath when you released his airway, only to have it pour out in a groan as your tongue traced the familiar scar. It wasn’t long, but it had been deep, enough to leave his skin pink in the wake of healing. Normally the collar of his shirts kept it hidden away; it was small enough to forget, but sometimes he’d touch it just to make his heart hurt.

           You’d been in nearly the same position when you’d given it to him. You’d knocked him down, kept him pinned under your fighting body, threatening to slice him open and watch him bleed out before your eyes. But those had been empty words, only cut off when you’d been commanded to retreat from Zeke’s onslaught on Shiganshina. Your blade had still nicked him, however, your wrist purposely digging the tip end into his skin.

           He deserved that cut far more than he deserved to feel your plump lips pressing against its scar.

           You’d both already branded each other in the past.

           Quickly, his hands found your hips, smoothly rolling to where he was on top of you so he could gain more of the control he desired.

           Reiner loved how you molded against him, back arched, legs searching for a way to loop around and keep him closer. He loved it because he knew you hated it; your eyes were squeezed shut, lips pressed together like you were trying to muffle sounds, like you were still so full of shame and conflict.

           He pressed his fingers to your cheeks, thumb and index fingers settling back into the same spots they held before when you’d been fighting.

           “Look at me,” he coaxed, bracing his weight on his elbow so as not to crush your delicate body beneath his.

           Your pupils were blown and so, so dark as your lashes lifted toward him. It was the same look you gave him the first time he found you awake in your cell. It sent a shiver racing down his back, spreading up to his neck. Had you wanted him then, too?

           Reiner brushed his lips against yours, gentle, reverent, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he was lost in the slant of your mouth, your tongue teasing him, “have you thought about me?”

           He was already trailing down your body, taking his time to revisit the swollen spots and dark bruises he already left on your neck and shoulders. Heat hit his cheeks as he realized the marks would be hard for you to hide—people would know what he’d done to you, and he wanted them to. There was no rule that he couldn’t fuck you; he could even say he was just following his orders of making you comfortable enough to spill Paradisian secrets.

           “Sometimes,” you admitted, head dipping back against his pillow as you moaned, “I’ve wondered what those big fingers would feel like inside me.”

           His hand slid down to your chest, wrapping itself around your breast so he could feel the weight of it within his palm. Then he enveloped it within the warmth of his mouth. Your lips fell open as you whined for him, desperate for more, the sounds racing between his legs.. His tongue swirled around the peaked bud of your nipple, his hand mimicking the actions of his mouth upon your other breast. Your hips pressed up against his firm body, reacting to every little touch or scrape of teeth. He groaned against the sensitive skin; he could feel gooseflesh trickling down your sides. His lips left your nipple, only to be placed on the top curve of your breast. He sucked at the soft flesh roughly, causing you to jump at the sudden influx of pain and pleasure. He growled, biting at your tit, littering it with dark red and purple bruises just like the rest of you.

           But he was too impatient, quickly abandoning your beautiful tits to move further down your body. He pressed kisses into your stomach, already imagining how pretty you were going to look stuffed with his cock.

           He hooked his arms around your thighs, reveling in how loudly you moaned when he spread your legs even further apart so he could drape them over his shoulders.

           “I always knew you’d have the prettiest pussy.”

           “Fuck —Reiner, just, shut up and put your mouth to good use.”

           He arched an eyebrow as he looked up the expanse of your body to find one of your hands gripping the pillow above your head, the other digging into his sheets like you were holding on for dear life.

           He kept his eyes on your face as he dug his fingers into the fat of your thigh, bringing it to his mouth like it was a delicacy to be revered. He took too much delight in watching how your mouth parted as he sunk his teeth into your thigh, just enough to abuse the sensitive skin and make you squirm. He then ran his tongue across the sore flesh, knowing that his spit would cool and cause your skin to prickle. He repeated this a few more times, slowly inching his way toward your alluring, soaked pussy.

           “Reiner…”

           God his name sounded so good in your mouth.

           He didn’t answer you, just dipped his head lower, tongue now tracing a path at the juncture of your hip and thigh.

           That hand of yours that was twisted in the sheets suddenly found its way into his hair, your fingers lost in the shaggy locks.

           “ Reiner , please, please I want more .”

           But you’d already said those words; he’d heard them earlier when you begged for more of his kiss.

           “You can do better than that.”

           He let your thighs rest against his shoulders, his too-strong hands moving to where his thumbs could spread that pretty pussy of yours apart. He bit back a groan at the sight, practically salivating at the sight of your wet, weeping cunt just begging for him to dip his tongue into you.

           You sucked in a very deep breath, “I think about your mouth, your hands, on my pussy all the time, I-I’ve wanted to sit on your face for years, so please, please, do something before I—!”

           A low, deep growl left his throat as he licked a long, hot stripe up your quivering cunt. He heard you slap your hand over your mouth, muffling a loud moan.

           “Ah, ah,” his arm was long enough to reach the crux of your elbow on the bed, jerking your palm away from your cheeks, “I want to hear everything that comes from the filthy little mouth of yours.”

           “But, your neighbors…”

           “I thought you didn’t give a fuck about my neighbors? Or do you only want to scream for me when you’re angry?”

           He grinned against your folds as your thighs pressed against his cheekbones, your poor skin still so hot from all the hickeys he left behind.

           You used the fingers in his hair to tug him forward, but he resisted, instead electing to just repeat the motion of slowly sliding his flattened tongue up the middle of your pussy, your folds hemming around the wet muscle. He could already tell he was going to get addicted to your taste, to the way you kept gasping at his touch.

           Quickly, he dove between your thighs, mouth eager and insatiable. He was messy because he wanted you dripping, wanted you needy and whiny and begging and crying for him like he’d always imagined. He kept you spread open with his fingers, tongue assaulting your sensitive clit. He moved the tip of his tongue in tight circles, feeling your lower stomach and thighs clenching and shivering beneath his ministrations.

           He relished in the power he had with his mouth between your legs, but at the same time, he was here to repent. He hadn’t forgotten the raw emotions that had poured from your chest earlier.

           Reiner mumbled apologies against your pussy, the words lost within the sloppy sounds of his tongue and lips against your wet folds.

           He would make you feel lost; make you forget everything if only for a moment.

           “You taste so good,” he praised, purring against you before dipping his tongue lower, prodding at your tight hole. Your fingers in his hair turned into a fist, your hips rolling up and encouraging him to plunge into you. Sweat was beading at the nape of his neck, his cock so hard he felt like he was going to burst. He kept his hips pressed to the mattress, trying to keep his mind between your legs instead of on his own body. He needed to prep you first, needed to award you the fingers you’d admitted to thinking about.

           Soon, he shifted his mouth upwards again, filling your needy pussy with two of his fingers as his mouth continued to work at your clit.

           The most exquisite little moan left your lips, followed by a whispered, “yes, yes, yes, yes,” your gummy walls tightening around his digits as they pumped into you a little recklessly. Initially, he’d wanted to take his time with you, to drag out your pleasure and have you aching for him, but you were already so wet, so willing, mouth open with quick, breathy pants and your pussy clenching and drawing him in closer. You were already so needy, your slick staining the hair on his cheeks and pooling into his mouth.

           “You like that?” He curled his fingers inside you, quickly finding that sensitive and spongy spot inside of you that had your eyes rolling back and your hands grasping at your tits for some semblance of stability.

           “S-so good, feels so good , just a- ah, a little more.”

           He spread his fingers as he curled and pumped them, taking a moment to marvel at how your pussy wrapped around them.

           “A little more and what, princess? You’ll cum for me?”

           Your head snapped up, blinking like you’d be snapped out of a dream.

           “D-don’t call me—”

           He silenced you by stuffing his fingers deeper inside of your cunt, thumb taking over for his mouth and drawing heated, sloppy circles around your clit. Your whole body was rocking, hips bucking down against his hand as you sought your release. He felt like he was watching something forbidden; you were not supposed to have his name on your breath, you shouldn’t be naked, writhing in his sheets, squeezing at your divine tits while you prepared and shuddered as your orgasm prepared to release from his hands.

           But there you were, a blessed sight before him, his apologies and his fingers stuffed inside of your pussy.

           Your thighs clenched closer than before, your whole body tightening. He kept his face close to your sex, admiring how you well you took in the onslaught of his greedy fingers.

           “Fu-uck,” he heard you rasp, your body stilling. He ceased his motions, cupping his mouth around your pulsing pussy so he could lap up what leaked from inside of you. You looked beautiful, spent, like you’d been swept out to sea but floated home to safety.

           Next time you came for him, he was going to make sure his name was on your tongue.

━━━─── ��� ───━━━

          You watched with watery eyes as Reiner sat up between your thighs, bringing his dripping fingers to his mouth. He dragged the digits along his tongue, cleaning them with a cocky grin tugging at his cheeks.

          Your chest felt so heavy after your orgasm; it had torn through you like an arrow pierces flesh, hot and fast and pointed, like you were ripping apart in ecstasy. And all because of him, because of Reiner Braun. Not that long ago you were desperate to wrap your fists around his neck and kill him, and now you were just desperate to feel him take you, to use your body and make you feel that blinding pleasure all over again.

          That urge to hurt him was still present, still lingering underneath your composure, but it was being battled by your lust and the years you’d spent wanting to fuck him. You’d never allowed yourself to when you were both back home; Reiner always seemed like trouble, especially to you. You were worried if you opened your legs for him, he’d worm his way into your heart, into all your hurt.

          But everything was different now—you didn’t know if you would ever see home again, but this man whom the gods and whatever celestial beings existed kept tying and binding you to was here, and he wanted you, and you were so ready to let him have you, hold you, break you.

          You felt your mouth open as you watched him finally rid himself of his boxer briefs.

          His cock was thick and long, curving ever so slightly up towards his stomach. A few veins were throbbing up his length, plump and enticing. His cock even looked big in comparison to his mighty palm, the red, swollen head leaking out over his thumb. He had the kind of cock you thought only existed in porn, so fucking thick that you wonder if coke-can cock would even be an apprioprate descriptor.

          “Oh my god, if you had fucking told me you have such a fat cock…” you trailed off, feeling saliva pool under your tongue. God you wanted him in your mouth.

          “Impressed?”

          “Very.”

          “Then beg for it.”

          You couldn’t believe it, but you loved seeing that ego of his come back to life. You loved seeing confidence brewing behind his honey eyes again, loved seeing him proudly wrap his hand around his cock and pump it for you.

          “Haven’t I done enough begging, Reiner?”

          “You’ll beg as much as I want you to.”

          He held a playful smile on his face as he spread your legs again, this time keeping them around his waist as he settled back on top of your body. He wrapped his fists around your wrists that were lying by your face, keeping you pinned below him. Your pussy was still singing from your orgasm, but a new string of pleasure was coursing down your spine at his words.

          “Pretty please,” you moaned into his ear, “please fuck me, you’re all I want.”

          And you meant those words too; the world could start ending and the only thing on your mind would be how good his weight felt between your hips.

          His cockhead brushed against your slippery folds, your body shivering as he made contact with your swollen clit before pressing gently against your tight entrance.

          He was bigger than— no , you didn’t need to be thinking about anyone else. Just him.

          “Please fuck me, fuck me hard. Fuck me so I forget what you’ve done.”

          He released your wrists, his hands molding to your hips, pushing you down.

          You could feel his groan rumble up your own chest from where your bodies were pressed together. Your hands were gripping at his back, nail already sinking into the rolling muscle of his shoulders. He felt heavy, solid. He smelled familiar, like nostalgia was bubbling at the surface of his skin, enveloping your senses as you took in a deep breath. He felt like home.

          White-hot heat spread over every nerve ending as he pushed himself inside of you. He was rough, quick, hips snapping so he could plunge into your depths in one swift motion. You were wet enough to accept him, but still you burned from the intense stretch. You whined his name as you felt yourself slipping away into that headspace of sex.

          He kept himself sheathed deep inside of you for a moment, letting you feel the thickness of his cock, the heaviness of his thighs against yours. He was panting into the curve of your collarbone, like he was steadying himself, or perhaps he was preparing.

          “Move,” you demanded, trying to roll your hips that were pinned under his might.

          You both moaned and hissed as he followed your order, drawing himself in and out of your compliant pussy. The thick veins of his cock dragged against your walls as he moved, making your lashes flutter from the sizzling pleasure of it all. He’d barely started and you were already falling into a delirium. It was like the first taste of an addiction; heavy, sweet, all encompassing, like his cock between your legs was all you ever needed.

          He set a slow pace, a purposeful one, each thrust causing primal sounds to erupt from your throat. All worries were gone —you couldn’t think about his past, your future, if anyone was looking for you, if you were in danger. All that mattered was him, was this moment.

          Soon his tempo changed. He sped up, hands still locked around your hips, fingers mean and bruising. Every mark he’d left on your body suddenly began to sing with the ecstasy of him pounding away inside of you. Your nails were helpless, scratching lines you knew would bleed red down his back.

          “How does it feel?” He whispered your name against your neck; you could feel him smirk against your skin.

          “S-so good,” your breaths were quick, hot, “so full .”

          You whined when he pulled his body away from you, seamlessly settling on his knees so he could look down at you as his cock pumped away inside your clenching cunt.

          “Yeah? Like being stuffed full of my cock?”

          You merely nodded your head, lips pressing together as your hands fisted the pillow next to your head. All your shame was gone, instead filled with delight as you watched how his eyes raked over your bouncing body, over all the damage he’d done to it for the sake of claiming you.

          Those shining, golden orbs of his landed on where your bodies were conjoined. It was like a fire was lit behind them as he marveled at your tight pussy sucking him in, perfect flesh wrapped around him, cream pooling at the base of his cock showing how much your body wanted him.

          “I hate you...so much,” he whispered it into the heat of the air, his confession encouraging him to grip tighter, push harder. You felt the change in the atmosphere, like something darker was brewing between you.

          You were tempted to spit the hatred back at him, but any words you were thinking of were lost when he flipped you over far too-easily.

          It was a shock, to suddenly have your face smashed into his pillow, his leftover scent invading your nose. And it was wicked to feel him maneuver you like a little rag doll, heavy paws gripping at your waist and pulling your ass up to meet him.

          He shoved his cock into you wickedly, roughly big hands holding your ass and pulling you back against him as he began a ruthless pace. It felt like a punishment. You screwed your eyes shut, a cry erupting from your throat at his brutality. Your fingers fisted into the sheets, your back arching from his force. Your world narrowed; all you could focus on was Reiner inside of you, using your pussy like it truly belonged to him, like he had a right to treat you however he wanted.

          You felt a sick, twisted satisfaction of feeling him come alive behind you. You did this to him, made him go nearly feral and lose control. Or maybe it was the opposite. With you, he could have all the control he wanted, needed. Your body reacted to every touch, every suck, every plunge of his hips. You moaned, whined, bucked, shivered, like an instrument being played by vicious hands.

          His heavy balls were slapping against your clit, making your body twitch with little shocks of bliss with every movement. You could feel every splayed finger upon your ass and hips, each one digging and pressing into you, pulling you in closer, deeper upon his cock.

          “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” his curses kissed your ears.

          You didn’t have the mind to speak, his depraved pace had you drooling against the sheets. Little gasps and groans of pleasure were the only things able to escape your mouth.

          He was like an elemental force taking over you, and you wanted him to. You wanted to fall prey to him, wanted to get lost in the gravitational well that was Reiner Braun.

          One of his hands began to glide up your back, fisting in your hair and jerking you back. A small scream fell from your lips as your head was pulled from the pillow, pain blooming from your scalp. It changed the angle, had his cock hitting a new, softer spot inside you that had your vision blurring.

          Your hands were barely able to keep their grip on his sheets, making your thighs slip back against his.

          “I like watching you struggle,” he purred, yanking his hold on your hair. You whimpered in response, starting to become overwhelmed by the pain and the pleasure. Your body was aching, from lust and discomfort, from ecstasy and weakness. You knew you were entirely in his hands. He could drop you, he could stop giving you the bliss that was burning between your legs and around his cock. But he kept pumping inside of you, deep groans spilling over your naked back and soaking into your skin.

          H e pulled you up higher, leaning forward to capture your shoulder between his teeth. You could feel his massive body rocking against yours, over, and over, and over again, a sinful rhythm. His cock ramming so deep inside of you that you felt it deep within your throat. His hand on your hip slid to the front of your body, fingertips circling over your clit and making you cry. Tears were pricking your lashes —you were full of emotions you couldn’t name, full of him.

          “Reiner, fuck, oh god,” one of your hands flew to your breast, the other landing on the merciless fingers that toyed with your pussy. It was a weak effort to keep him there, to have some semblance of control.

          “You’re getting tighter,” he grunted, hand leaving your hair so he could wrap it around your belly, brawny arm caging you against his solid body, “gonna cum?”

          Your head leaned back against his shoulder, salty, burning tears now streaming down your cheeks.

          Your cunt was throbbing with every wicked plunge of his cock. He was reckless, fucking you like an animal, like man both in and out of control.

          “Please, please, please, please,” you were back to begging, so close to release that it was almost painful.

          “Please what, princess?”

          “Please, let me cum.”

          Let me , like he had dominion over your pleasure. And he did, you knew he did.

          He kept his fingers on your clit, ruthlessly swirling through the wetness, keeping you close and shaking around his cock. Your stomach muscles were tightening, fresh heat creeping over your skin. It was like each thrust was taking you up a ladder to heavenly pleasure, each one sending you higher, but making you fall harder at the same time.

          “Cum for me,” it was a hushed command, pressed into your neck, “say my name when you do.”

          Your mouth opened, pretty, pained sounds falling down onto your bodies. He somehow pulled you closer, cinching your back against his chest with that heavy arm beneath your breasts.

          You were too hot, you were losing yourself, lost to the indurate thumping of him inside your pussy.

          “Gonna... fuck , I’m…” your head hung low, waves of pure bliss already creeping up on you, “ Rei-ner! ”

          You weren’t sure if it was the sound of his name or the sucking of your cunt that sent him over the edge with you. Hot, thick ropes of cum coated your insides as you completely fell apart. Your orgasm was more intense than before, lasting longer, like the thick stretch of his cock kept you open for more ecstasy to keep rolling over your body. You were screaming silently.

          Though his body was still, he was solid and kept you in place as you both rode out the intensities that your bodies were craving. Your hands clung to his forearm, head now so heavy you could barely think.

          But soon the cloud of lust was lifted, your forms crumpling into the mess of sheets below you. Reiner landed on his back, chest heaving with breaths. You were still on your knees, palms spread onto the bed as you tried to regain your senses. You could feel his cum sliding down your thighs, sticky and slow.

          You were used, spent. But suddenly the weight of the world was back on your shoulders.

          You glanced over to him, straightening your back and sitting up. He looked as wasted as you were, drunk but coming back to life, face flushed with those glorious arms of his above his head.

          Reiner brought one of his arms down, hand upturned and offered before you on the bed. He looked like some muted, tired god within his sheets, looked like he was giving you an offering.

          What waited for you within his hands after this?

          Peace? Forgiveness? Or was it judgement? Pain?

          “You okay?”

          You nodded solemnly, taking his outstretched hand and bringing it up to your face. He cupped your cheek, thumb wiping away the remnants of tears that he wasn’t quite sure why you shed.

          “What now?”

          It was one of those loaded questions, you knew that. It held too much meaning for him to answer. What would come of the two of you now? What feelings were brewing after this? Where did you go from here, physically and mentally?

          “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. His eyes were trailing over the carnage he’d brought upon your body; years of pent of anger painted all over your skin.

          You pulled away from him, even though the hormones in your body, your emotions , were begging for you to curl up next to him and be coddled.

          You turned your back, sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers plucking at the sweaty sheets. You gazed out the window, found the moon trying to show her face behind snow clouds. The same moon you gazed at from your home, now presenting herself to you in a new, foreign place. Kind of like the man behind you, who offered you pieces of himself to fill your voids.

          The bed moved as he did, an open palm finding your back, running down your spine. He stayed behind you, kissing at your ruined shoulders with the mouth that had hurt them.

          “I’m tired,” you admitted, feeling little bits of heaviness pulling from your chest, “tired of everything .”

          “I know.”

          “I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m tired of just surviving. Here, home, it’s always just steps to live another day, to not get caught up in wars that aren’t of our making.”

          He hummed knowingly.

          “We could run away.”

          That was a thought you’d had before. But running gets tiresome too, you supposed. This time you might not have to think about doing it on your own. You’d collided with him again, the fates had tied you together once more. Perhaps it was to start a new trajectory.

          “We could,” you smiled then, a little flame of hope, of happiness, licking its way into your still hazy mind.

          You turned around to catch him in an unsuspecting kiss. Your grin was still present and infectious, making him laugh as you pressed your mouth eagerly to his.

          “I don’t know if we like each other enough to run away together, you know.”

          You pushed him back into the mattress, leaning over him to plant little, messy kisses upon his cheeks.

          “True,” he chuckled, moving your hair out of your face to give you a proper kiss before settling back into his pillows, “we’ll have to learn how to treat each other better.”

          You took a moment to look at him. He looked so much the same as when you were younger, his beautiful smile crinkling the edges of honey eyes. But there was more etched within his features, more prominent cheekbones begging to be touched and kissed, a softness lingering within his lips.

          “We’ll find a way to make gardens out of the graves we’ve made.”

━━━─── • ───━━━

          You didn’t move again until he was fast asleep, the barest hint of a snore escaping his nose.

          There was a growing soreness in your limbs as you silently removed yourself from the bed, feet cold against the floor. Your whole body ached, those bruises and hickeys stinging as you carefully moved the strewn desk chair back in front of his computers.

          God he was a fucking animal , but you couldn’t complain. You’d wanted it far too much. You rubbed at the painful heat in your naked shoulders as you turned on the monitor that had gone dormant. Blue light filled the small space, making you glance over your shoulder to make sure he was still sleeping. His chest was still rising and falling peacefully, the light illuminating his hulking figure in the bed sheets.

          Your mind was so heavy, having carried the memory of his password up until this moment. You’d been sure to watch him type it in earlier, just in case. Though, it wasn’t that hard to remember—it was the name of his first dog that he’d talked about while on his mission in Paradis, and of course Bertholdt’s birthday. You typed it in quickly, Honey1230 , and sighed with relief as his desktop flashed to life.

          You knew this was a risk. But it was one you had to take.

          You knew the email by heart. It was the one that always sent you photos and love notes, a non-government one that you knew would still be checked.

          You didn’t take long, just typed out the words that had been playing in the back of your mind when the world went silent; when you weren’t wrapped up in the mess that you’d created with Reiner.

          It took an awkwardly long moment to send, all the files you’d attached to it slowing it down. You sat there naked, dripping, a mess, heart pounding like you were worried sirens would start blaring at any moment.

          After the email blinked away from the sent box, you deleted it, watching the name it was addressed to disappear.

Next Chapter

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Awake

⚠️This piece is a LAOFT AU, inspired by Mother by @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, check out the original fic on AO3 here! ⚠️

(also, I am not nearly the fae-expert that Violet is, so I've taken quite the creative liberty with Virgil's mother. Please don't come for me.)

Awake takes place a year or so after the events of Mother.

Word count: 3513

AO3 link

Summary: Virgil has a long overdue conversation with his mother.

TW: spiders, brief/mild (non-sexual) nudity (fae-stuff, you know), mild blood/pain, mentions of parental neglect, sensory overload

… gil…

Virgil…

Virgil’s eye shot open. He tensed, listening. Even before the casket, he’d never been a heavy sleeper, and he was sure he’d heard his name. The four of them were sleeping in his room in fairyland, Roman asleep against his chest, Patton curled against Virgil’s back with Logan cuddling him from behind. Suddenly needing to be touching them all, Virgil reached back and rested a light hand on Logan’s knee.

Logan stirred, but didn’t wake.

Roman, on the other hand, shifted and cracked an eye. “Babe?”

“Go back to slee—”

Virgil.

He shot up to a seat, dislodging Roman and waking the other two. Virgil searched the room. He couldn’t pinpoint the direction the voice was coming from.

“V?” Patton yawned, sitting up with Logan. “What’s wrong?”

Virgil! it called again, more insistent. The seeds of panic began rooting in his chest. Something was speaking to him—that, or he was going crazy. He couldn’t sense any being even remotely close enough to call out to him, and if he couldn’t sense them, they could sneak up on him. On his partners.

“You don’t hear that?” he whispered.

“I hear nothing, Virgil,” Logan said, placing a grounding hand on his shoulder.

Imperceptible movement in the corner. A frantic, miniscule scrabbling. Virgil grasped the one knife he kept on him while he slept, strapped against his stomach, and flung it into the shadows. It sunk into the wall with a solid thunk.

Careful, brother!

We did not want to wake you.

Did you hear?

She is here!

She is awake! his sisters clamored, the shifting from the dark corner taking a frantic edge. Squinting, he realized they were writhing in a giant, excited nest in the upper corner of the room. They must have snuck in while he slept. Thankfully, he hadn’t impaled any of them. Strange, though. The room was dark, even for him. He couldn’t quite make out the far edges of the bedroom.

“That can’t be good for the wall,” Roman chuckled.

Patton let out a loving sigh. “V, we talked about the knives…”

“Sleeping with blades is incredibly unsafe,” Logan said, “especially with the three of us so close together.”

Virgil cast a careful glance Patton’s way, praying he didn’t notice the wriggling mass of arachnids that he was sure would terrify him. Though, if it was dark enough to give him trouble seeing things, he doubted any of his partners would notice. Relaxing a few notches, Virgil ran a tired hand down his face.

“My sisters are excited about something,” he said. “I’m sorry for waking you all.”

Patton stiffened imperceptibly, casting a wary glance across the bedsheets. Logan cupped a comforting hand on the side of his neck.

“There is no need for an apology,” Logan said, still soft with sleep. Roman relaxed back into the bed, stretching in a way that made Virgil think twice about going to investigate the voice.

Get up, the voice said, more amused than snappish. Excited, even. Virgil startled, reaching instinctively for knives he didn’t have on him. Something tickled at the back of his mind. He knew that voice… but from where?

“Virgil?” Roman asked softly, brow furrowing.

“Stay here,” he muttered, extracting himself from the bed with inhuman grace.

The second his feet touched the floor, a buzzing power flooded his body. He flinched, gasping.

Hello, Virgil, that subsonic voice reverberated through his skull. Looking down, he saw a sea of familiar shadows carpeting the floor.

Mother. You’re speaking, he said lamely, too shocked for eloquence.

Indeed, she rumbled. The shadows were thicker and more corporeal than before, lapping at the feet of the bed like smoky waves. It would explain why his sisters were up on the wall instead of the floor. Yes, Mother had created them, but they didn’t quite have the constitutions to interact with her as directly as he did.

He’d noticed the steadily returning strength of the forest in general since his brother’s demise, but after the encounter they’d had in Roman’s living room, his mother hadn’t reached out… almost as if she’d wanted her return to be a surprise.

I haven’t harmed your loves again, have I? she asked, sensing his apprehension. She sounded more exasperated than apologetic.

No. They’re fine. Thank you for keeping your distance.

“Virgil?” Patton asked again, and Roman made like he was going to hop off the bed.

Virgil held out a hand, eyes going wide. “No, wait!” he hissed.

Roman froze. “Virgil, I’m serious. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, and he peered off the edge of the bed. A second of confusion before he muttered, “Ah.”

“My mother is in the room,” Virgil said, rapidly trying to think his way through the situation. He wasn’t keen on leaving his partners alone in fairyland, even if it was in his own quarters. However, if his mother was talking already, that meant she could probably hold a physical form as well, and there was no way Patton or Roman could stand her presence without permanent damage to their psyche. Logan, he wasn’t too sure about. Maybe.

His mother wasn’t simply fae. She was the mother of fear itself. The only thing his partners had encountered even remotely close to his mother’s physical form was the eldritch horror Greta had become—and they’d all seen the havoc it had wrought on mortal minds. They weren’t built for it.

Roman swallowed, leaning away from the edge of the bed. He hid his fear well, Virgil would give him that. Not that he particularly blamed him.

Patton, on the other hand, visibly paled. “Really?” he squeaked, pressing back against Logan. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

“I imagine that is the point,” Logan said, wrapping Patton protectively in his arms. He cast a glance at Virgil. “Your mother manifests primarily as shadow, yes?”

Virgil nodded. “I need to speak with her elsewhere. My sisters will… keep an eye out.”

Logan gripped the charm at his neck and nodded. “We will be fine, Virgil.”

Virgil managed a weak smile, then turned his attention to the ceiling where his sisters were spreading out, covering nearly every square inch. He so rarely saw all of them in one place—several groups often doing small reconnaissance missions around fairyland for him. It was the only way he was able to keep up with the ever-shifting moods of the court. Virgil sometimes forgot just how many of them there were.

“Stay off the bed,” he warned, pointing a finger.

Of course, brother!

We would not scare your dear ones!

Patton!

We love Patton!

We will keep them safe! they chorused.

Virgil cocked a dubious eyebrow, then turned, throwing the balcony doors open and hopping up onto the ledge.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Patton gave a nod and a smile.

The shadows in the room swirled with a sound like someone ripping away a tablecloth and converged on Virgil. Something in his mind clicked. The darkness hung about him like a cape, filling him with power, and he couldn’t help the echoing, inhuman laughter bubbling up his throat.

He caught a glimpse of Roman’s paling face. Logan’s mouth pulled down into the beginnings of concern, but it didn’t register.

Virgil tipped back off the balcony and disappeared with a flutter of fabric, the night itself enveloping him in a cool embrace.

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

Come on, Virgil. Faster. Faster!

They dashed through the deepest parts of the forest, the boundaries between their minds blurring and shifting. Trees the size of buildings towered above them. The air was alive with magic—or maybe that was simply his mother, expressing herself fully for the first time in centuries. He could practically taste it on his tongue, jaw-tingling and electrifying. The forest hummed with it.

Laughter, free and wild, pounded through his chest and Virgil wasn’t sure which of them it was. His heart hammered in his ribcage, fast enough to kill any mortal human. Electricity so hot it was cold crackled across his skin.

Mother, he managed through the frenzy, breathless. Mother, where are we going? He’d never seen her this excited. It was almost too much, even for him.

Home! she cried triumphantly.

For a split second, Virgil thought she meant the witch hazel, but they weren’t anywhere near it. At least, he was pretty sure they weren’t. If he recognized where they were, the power coursing through him kept his mind too out-of-focus to do so. Magic tore through him—too much for so small a vessel. If it went on much longer, Virgil thought he’d tear apart at the seams.

At last, they slowed to a stop just outside of a grassy clearing. Virgil’s breath caught at the sight. In the middle of the clearing, dwarfing even the monstrous trees of the surrounding forest, stood a glossy black tree—easily ten times taller than Wickhills’ quaint, steepled chapel. It looked like blown glass, with silver and gold veins twisting through its trunk and branches. The leaves, distant though they were, looked razor sharp. Like teeth, almost. Virgil felt small in a way he rarely did. In his mother’s absence, he’d grown used to being the scariest thing around. She, it seemed, was about to upend that notion.

The darkness slipped from Virgil’s shoulders and stole the air from his lungs. He stumbled against a tree, ears ringing. The darkness coalesced into an enormous, roiling mass of black that coiled around the base of the tree.

Watch, Mother said, and he could practically hear her smile.

Virgil coughed, tasting blood on his lips. Bringing up a trembling hand, he found his nose bleeding.

You’ve gone soft, his brother’s voice echoed in his ears and Virgil spit, wiping his face. True, the relative peace he’d established in the court meant he didn’t use his full power on any kind of regular basis, but his mother was undeniably stronger. That, or she’d simply been holding back all this time.

Virgil sank to a seat, sweat slicking his face and arms, watching with weary amazement as the sea of shadow shifted and folded in on itself. He was ready for the display to trigger thoughts of Greta, of the beast she’d become… but Mother was different. Terrifying, yes, but different. More in control.

I’m glad you’re back.

Me too, little one.

A lump formed in Virgil’s throat. It had been so long since anyone had called him that.

Eventually, the darkness took shape. Her head was the size of Logan’s house, impossibly black with galaxies for eyes and hair that undulated as if underwater. A sinuous neck led first to shoulders, then arms, hands, and fingers that had no definite tips and bled shadow. Her dark chest was bare, her stomach curved and soft like folds of black velvet. The of bottom half her body looked like those insects Logan had shown him—millipedes. Dozens of legs lined a plated, serpentine body, but the legs arched up at sharp angles like a spider’s. Shadows licked up off of her entire body like dark ribbons of flame, distorting any solid edges.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, lifting a hand to feel the vibrations of her throat. Virgil felt it through his entire body. “Interesting. It's been a while since I’ve had a mouth.” She laughed, and the clearing rumbled.

You were born here? Virgil asked, sure if he spoke aloud she wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“In a sense. This is where I began. I do not have a mother in the same way that I am yours. Something before me must have left—or died—and I simply filled the emptiness,” she explained. “The world likes balance.” She moved to lie on her stomach, resting her head on her hands. If Virgil stood, his head would only just pass the crest of her upper lip.

Her massive eyes widened. “You are bleeding, little one.”

“Yes,” he croaked, now that she was close enough to hear.

Mother was silent for a moment, before asking, “Did I do that?”

“You didn’t know,” he said. Her eyes narrowed at the indirect answer.

“I am sorry,” she murmured, her cool breath washing over him like a pleasant breeze. “My excitement got the better of me. Come,” she said, rising up to a sort of seat with her insectoid body coiled beneath her. Virgil grunted and rose to his feet. He felt sore all over, like he’d fought an entire army single-handed. His nose still hadn’t stopped bleeding. Patton would have a fit when he saw the crimson stains littering the front of his sleep shirt.

Mother cupped her two hands together and deftly scooped him up off the ground. That same buzz of power filled him, but slower this time, seeping into him like the warmth of a bath. The pain melted away. She couldn’t heal like he and Logan could—again, she wasn’t fae, at least in the sense that Virgil was. The lack of a permanent physical body meant she had no need for healing powers. When they parted, he’d likely feel like he’d been run over, but for now, Mother did what she could.

She lifted him to her shoulder, hands perfectly steady beneath him. Virgil sat, feet resting just above her collarbone.

He laughed.

“What is it, little one?” Mother asked, gazing up at the stars.

“I wonder if this is what my sisters feel like around me.”

A chuckle rumbled through his mother, deep and sonorous. “Indeed.”

“What will you do, now that you are back to your full strength?”

“The same things I’ve always done, I suppose,” she said, a smile splitting across her face. “Watch over the forest. Over you and those loves of yours.” Then she paused, as if considering something. “Dorothy Marie Galloway Sanders.”

Virgil stiffened at the full name. She hadn’t called her Dot, so he was fairly certain it wasn’t her true name, but still. It sounded awfully close.

“She is mother to one of your darlings, yes?”

“Why do you ask?” Virgil said carefully.

“Have you ever wished for a mother like that?”

Virgil’s throat went dry. “That answer is quite complicated.”

“I thought so,” she said, her smile fading into resignation.

Virgil remembered the first time he saw Dot gather an upset Logan in her arms, rocking him gently. The sudden, gut-punching longing had taken Virgil by surprise. When May ruffled his hair or patted his shoulder, it took everything in him not to hold on, to ask for… for what? More love? He had love. Inordinate amounts of it. His wonderful partners loved him. Greta had loved him, and Trudi. His sisters loved him. He shouldn’t need any more. It would be… greedy.

“You told me you were lonely,” she said, “back when you were so very young. I didn’t understand that I could have filled that role much better than your brother did. I figured you two would be fine, especially after I’d made your sisters, so I left you to run things and by the time I realized how wrong I’d been, my power was waning and you were…”

“You did not put me in that casket,” he croaked.

“My negligence might as well have.”

Virgil’s vision blurred with tears that he tried to swallow back. “I don’t blame you, Mother.”

She glanced down at him. “You cannot lie, yet fear fills your words, little one.”

He let out a shaky exhale. “I simply fear losing you, as I fear losing everything as I once had,” he admitted, then, in a voice so quiet and small he felt like a child again, he said, “Please don’t leave me.”

Mother scooped him up in her hands once more, bringing him level with her eyes. She rested her thumb against his chest, the weight comforting and probably the closest he’d get to an actual hug.

“Never again, little one.”

His breath hitched, and the tears finally spilled over.

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

Mother delivered Virgil back to the fairy hill just before dawn. Alighting on the balcony’s edge without a sound, the shapeless mass of shadow retreated from around him.

Goodnight, little one.

Goodnight, mother, he replied, face still tacky from crying. The moment she departed, pain and heaviness slammed back into him. Fresh blood trickled from his nose and his vision swam. Thankfully, he stumbled forward, instead of pitching backward off the edge of the balcony.

Virgil stumbled like a drunk through the balcony doors. Logan, who sat perfectly still against the headboard reading a book, looked up and all the blood drained from his face. He shook Patton and Roman awake. They all shot to their feet, Patton getting a little tangled in the blankets on the way.

“Virgil?!”

“V, oh my goodness—”

“—what happened? I thought you said—”

Brother!

Brother is hurt!

What happened, brother?

We will avenge you! his sisters shrieked. Exhaustion, and pain, and the overall emotional rawness from his exchange with his mother riddled Virgil’s mind, turning everything into a muddled soup of noise. He staggered forward, catching himself on the rim of the sink-like basin of water against the wall—enchanted to stay clean and filled no matter what.

They just kept talking. So much was happening at once. A hand rested against his back, and he flinched so violently his grip cracked the rim of the basin. “Don’t—” he snapped before he could bite his tongue, and the hand retracted instantly. Even his sisters went silent. Virgil took a breath, running his hands through his sweat-matted hair. “Sorry,” he muttered, unsure if he’d be sick or not. “It’s that… overload thing.”

“What do you need, Virgil?” Logan asked, voice carefully calm despite the blood drying on Virgil’s face and hands.

“Quiet,” he sighed. “Just for a minute.”

They must have nodded. Virgil heard them retreating to the bed. After a few more steadying breaths, he began to wash his hands, the water turning pink for only a second before the enchantment purified it again. He cleaned his face and pulled the stained shirt up over his head, tossing it to the floor. He was too tired to care.

Stumbling to the bed, he caught himself on the bedpost, Roman instantly beneath his other arm, supporting his weight. Virgil collapsed onto the bed, groaning both in relief and pain. It was as if he’d pulled every muscle in his body. Eventually, his own magic would heal him, but that would take hours. He rolled to his back, cracking open one eye and shooting a weary but genuine smile at his three partners.

“Get in here,” he chuckled. They all collectively relaxed, Patton even letting out a relieved sigh. Logan rounded the bed to claim Virgil’s other side.

“Gently, gently,” he cautioned as they maneuvered closer to him. Patton curled up at his side, sandwiched between him and Roman. Virgil rested his arm across Patton’s shoulder and ran his fingers through Roman’s hair. Logan pressed firmly against Virgil’s opposite side, fidgeting gently with the ends of Virgil’s hair.

“What happened?” Patton asked, looking up at Virgil with those beautiful golden eyes so full of worry. “I thought you were with your mother.”

“I was,” Virgil said.

Roman went impossibly still. “Did she do this?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“She did not hurt me intentionally,” he said, resting his hand on Roman’s cheek, “simply got over-excited.”

Roman gripped his hand back tight, looking anything but comforted. Virgil forced himself not to wince.

“Roman, look at me,” he said, rising up on an elbow despite the protest of his ribs and shoulders. “My mother has never intentionally hurt me, has never made the same mistake twice, and always apologizes. She’s just… complicated and doesn’t understand the fragility of smaller beings very well.”

“I remember,” Logan muttered into Virgil’s shoulder.

“She sounds a bit like me,” Patton whispered, hand splayed across Virgil’s stomach, dipping up and down with his every breath. “You know, back before I could control my voice.”

Virgil pressed a kiss to Patton’s temple. “Yeah, it’s a bit like that.”

“All right,” Roman said, though he didn’t release Virgil’s hand completely.

He relaxed onto his back once more, closing his eyes. The pain was fading to the back of his mind—still there, but muted.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Roman said, turning Virgil’s hand over and tracing the lines of his palm.

Logan’s thumb brushed his face. “Have you been crying, dear?”

Virgil swallowed, opening his eyes again. “My mother and I had a long overdue conversation.”

“Good or bad?” Patton asked hesitantly.

Virgil considered for a moment. “Good, I think?”

“You think?” Roman asked.

He took a breath. “It… hurt, talking about things I’d never voiced before, but I’m glad I did. Things between us are better because of it.”

“In that case, I am very proud of you,” Logan mumbled into his shoulder, and Virgil relaxed. He was comfortable, and so very tired.

Virgil pulled all three of them closer, and, at last, drifted off into sleep.

[the-wayward-arc]

Emperor: MAGNUS, I WISH TO SPEAK TO YOU ALONE.

Magnus: What, are we gonna have a father to Son talk? Shall I get the tissues?

Emperor: YES. WE ARE. NO BULLSHITTERY THIS TIME MY SON.

Magnus: *Surprised* What are you trying to get at here father?

Emperor: YOU HAVE A CHILD, DO YOU NOT?

Magnus: What!?! How did you know that?? Did you invade my mind with your damn deity powers?

Emperor: NO, I SAW HOW YOU REACTED TO YOUR BROTHERS CHILDREN AND THE FACT YOU RECOGNIZED THE PLANET, YOUR CHILD IS THERE AS WELL, AREN'T THEY?

Magnus: *silence as he looks down* Yes, she is.

Emperor: SHE IS THERE NOT BY ACCIDENT IS SHE?

Magnus: No she isn't. I sent her there long ago. To protect her...

EMPEROR: TELL ME WHY.

-long long ago-

Magnus: my daughter was the result of an experiment of mine, a ritual that at the time I thought was a failure, turned out to be the greatest success I've ever done.

Magnus looks down at a small infant, at first there was a scowl on his face to see that it was a child and not a fully grown vessel like he had hoped. He motioned for his servants to take the child away and as she they did, she looked up at him, a small smile spreading on her face as she laid eyes on her the crimson king. A strange feeling creeping onto him as the child began to cry as he started to fade from her view.

Magnus: I didn't want anything to do with child at first, I was just gonna let the people of my planet take care of her but when I went to see her one last time, she looked at me and smiled. She was happy to see me. When I gazed upon her, I wondered if this what you saw when you looked upon us.

Emperor: YOU HAD A MUCH GRAND PURPOSE FOR THE EVOLUTION OF HUMANITY BUT...I HAD WONDERED HOW THINGS WOULD HAVE BEEN IF I HAD RAISED YOU ALL TOGETHER, WITH ME.

Magnus: Much like what transpired in that laboratory when we were all whisked away from you, the same thing was gonna happen to this child. Except it wasn't some damn gods asshats but rather me, a voluntary choice of sending her away just because I perceived her creation as a failure. I didn't want that, I felt a bond with her that was like the bond I felt towars you father when we were reunited.

Emperor: YOU RAISED HER, AS SHE WAS YOUR DAUGHTER.

Magnus: Yes, she was my daughter. Born of my blood and actions. I named her Salem, after an old friend from Prospero.

Magnus held Salem within the palm of his hand, the child trying to grab onto his large red finger as she laughed.

Magnus: As she grew, I taught her all that I knew. Her powers were great, not surprising considering who her father was.

Emperor: DON'T HURT YOURSELF WITH ALL THAT BACK PATTING.

Magnus stood in front of a child Salem, wearing acolyte Robes in the same color as her father's legion, her platinum blond hair tied into pony tail as ran towards her father. Flames of Warp fire erupted from her hands as it raced towards Magnus, only to be deflected by his own powers. Salem retreated slightly before summoning a lesser demon that she commanded to attack her father. Magnus was impressed but the small demon was no match for the red giant as he squashed with ease, just as he was about to speak a ball of fire blasted into his face. He stumbled backwards falling to one knee with a loud thud. He looked to see Salem standing away from a fading visage of herself, a smile on her face. Magnus laughed a bit, Impressed by how far she was coming.

Magnus: You caught me my child! *laughs* You are getting better and better! *bends to one knee, patting Salem's head gently*

Salem: Thank you Father, I do have the best teacher after all!

Emperors: HER POWERS WERE GROWING EVERYDAY WEREN'T THEY?

Magnus: Yes, again given her family it came at no surprise...but I knew I wasn't the only one noticing.

A teen Salem stood in front of two Rubric marines, ordering them ease while also summoning more lesser daemons though she was staring to put slight stronger demons under her thrall. Magnus watched above as Salem was practicing with her powers, doing his best to ensure a ritual was holding to keep a certain god from detecting her growing powers.

Magnus: Her powers were getting closer to my own, her control over the Rubrics and the daemons my Legion had enslaved were proof enough that she would reach my level soon. I was afraid. Afraid of what Tzeentch would do if he discovered her, discovered that I was hiding her with a ritual. I was terrified of him taking her and her becoming like me...so I had to make a decision.

Emperor: YOU WERE GOING TO HIDE HER.

Magnus: Yes. I summoned Ahriman back to the planet of sorcerers, despite our history he hated Tzeentch and I knew he was still loyal to my Legion. We scoured a place untouched by both the Imperium and Chaos, which we discovered Remnant. It had a unique relationship to the warp that basically hid it from the chaos gods. Souls there rarely entered the warp, rather they became part of the planet unless they were immensely powerful. So, I sent her there...I gave her false memories of this placing being her home. I alerted the memories of an ancient ruler so that he would protect my daughter and think of her as his own.

Magnus looked upon the sleeping form of Salem, a tear running down his face as he opened a portal to Remnant and to the kingdom she would placed in, no words were said as he took her through the portal, laying her down onto the bed. He gave one her one last look before going back, the portal closing behind him as Ahriman stood close by. To protect his daughter from Tzeentch, sacrifices must be made.

Magnus: I watched her grow, becoming a strong and capable leader. Only to see that bastard lock her away, but to interfere would mean Tzeentch might notice as well as the others. I couldn't risk that chance, so I had to watch my child be locked away for powers that exceeded all those around her. Then I watched as Events unfolded I could never predict and wish I would have to save her the pain.

Magnus watched through a small tear, a small window as his daughter was saved from the tower. Finding freedom and love with a young man, she watched their adventures as his daughter grew more accustomed to her powers, he saw her happiness and had hoped this meant he had been right about this place despite what had happened to her. But over the years, he watched more and more how things began to turn away from her; losing her husband, trying to revive him only to be stopped by those twin bastards, watching as they tried to tell her about balance only to disrupt the balance themselves by killing all the humans on Remnant and casting the blame onto her.

Magnus: She went through pain. Guilt, thinking she was to blame for the deaths of untold billions. When it was those two bastards throwing a tantrum for the actions of a few.

Emperor: WHAT BECAME OF THEM?

Magnus: I don't know but I have my sorcerers to this day looking for them, so I can kill them both personally.

Emperor: I'LL JOIN YOU, A GOOD OLD FASHION FATHER AND SON BONDING MOMENT.

Magnus: *Chuckles* Yeah, that'd be fun father.

Emperor: WHAT BECAME OF MY GRANDCHILD AFTERWARDS.

Magnus: She wandered for a long time, as humanity grew back and rebuilt. She assumed she was cursed with immortality but it wasn't a curse that those two claim to have given her, it was a gift from me. So that one day we could meet and she could see the galaxy and all the secrets that it holds. I wanted to protect my daughter, I did so much to make her both Immortal and invulnerable. But she saw it as a curse when she tried to take her own life. But she found her love once more, reborn by those two bastards. She had a family but that didn't last either...

Emperor: WHAT HAPPENED?

Magnus: An argument between her and her husband about the fate of their world escalated when he tried to take away their children, my granddaughters. They too were growing powerful with their newfound powers or magic as they called it. But they were caught in the crossfire and were slain.

Emperor: WHAT BECAME OF THEIR SOULS? *ANGER RISES* THEY WERE NOT TAKEN BY DEMONS WERE THEY?

Magnus: I would never allow such a thing to happen! No, I intervened and saved their souls, *produces an orb, The Emperor has the orb floated towards him and he can hear children laughing* Their souls are in there, safe. To them, that was all a bad dream and they are just living their lives as children again. I would never allow harm to befall them, they are my grandchildren and they will always be safe no matter what.

Emperor: HAVE YOU SEEN THEM? I KNOW IT IS POSSIBLE.

Magnus: *looking at the Orb, hearing the children play* A few times, but I never truly interacted with out of fear that Tzeentch would find it.

EMPEROR: MAGNUS, HE CANNOT GET YOU HERE, IT WILL BE SAFE FOR YOU TO SEE YOUR GRANCHILDREN. WHAT HAS BECOME OF SALEM?

Magnus: She is angry and saddened, now that the have been to that planet and that you have ensured the Imperium cannot touch it, I wish to see her soon. To be her father once more.

Emperor: SOON, YOU SHOULD SOON. MY SON, I SHALL ENSURE THAT PLANET WILL BE SAFE FOR NOT ONLY YOUR CHILD BUT ALL OF MY GRANDCHILDREN. MY GREAT GRANDCHILDREN AS WELL, WHEN WE UNFUCK THE IMPERIUM, I WILL HELP YOU RESTORE NOT ONLY SALEM BUT YOUR GRANDCHILDREN AS WELL.

Magnus: T-Thank you Father, *holds orb Close*

Emperor: OF COURSE MAGNUS.

-Remnant, Land of Darkness-

Salem tosses and turns, nightmares that have plagued her for centuries, she awoke suddenly surrounded only by nothing the nothing suddenly being replaced with a room, one that looked familiar to her. Books stacked high with various scrolls strung about, she picked up one to see it was her hand writing! But what her caught her more by surprise was her skin, it was back to normal. Back to human! So was her other arm! She immediately ran to a nearby mirror to see she had regained her humanity, no longer looking like a Grimm personified. She heard the small pitter patter of feet, turning around quickly, she was greeted by the sight of her 4 daughters running up to her. She took a step back in shock as they hugged her, smiling.

Celeste: Mommy! Mommy! There you are!

Faye: We were wondering where you were!

Salem was still shocked, this couldnt be real! No! This was a nightmare, the moment she touched, they'll be ripped away from her! But she slowly raised her hand to her oldest daughters head, nothing happened save for the feeling of her hair and Celeste laughing. She hugged her daughters, nothing happened save for them hugging her back! This wasn't a dream and even if it was, she didn't want to end. She cried as she held them close, hugging them tightly.

Amber: Grandpa said you would cry, but its okay Momma!

Salem: I know, I just...missed you all *hiccup* so much! Wait, what do you mean grandpa? *she looked at them all, each one smiling as they looked back*

Magnus approached, the giant of a man looked at Salem and her daughters. A warm expression on her face, even as Salem got protectively in front of her daughters.

Magnus: Hello Salem, it has been too long.

Salem: w-Who are you!? *warp fire appeared in her hand, she would not let this giant harm her daughters!*

Magnus: *chuckles* Seems I need to get rid of that memory altering *he waves his hand as a mist quickly envelops Salem before quickly dissipating*

Salem: *Looks at Magnus, anger raising but slowly new memories began to surface, memories of this room. Training, reading, laughing, smiling. Memories of him* F-Father? *she falls to her knees, her daughters around her concerned as more tears steamed down her face as Magnus dropped to one knee*

Magnus: There is much to talk about my little book worm.

[themadlostgirl]

When It’s Cold (7)

*I have a vague inclination of where this story is heading. I went into this without an ending in mind so we’re letting go of the wheel and seeing where it takes us.*

~~~

After I showered and got changed I went downstairs. Felix had made an easy lunch of sandwiches and popcorn and set up the living room to play whatever movie I wanted to watch. I chose a nice comedy and sat down next to Felix.

Images of what we had done this morning still danced shamelessly in my head. How could Felix sit there so calmly? All we were doing was watching a movie, something we did quite frequently, and yet I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight. Even the slight touch of his thumb mindlessly stroking my arm was sending me into a tizzy.

I was hoping that after our escapades this morning that I would be cooler and more collected around Felix but it was ten times worse. I had gotten a taste and now it was all that I wanted. All I could think about. So again, how was it that Felix was sitting there so calmly? How was he not as infuriatingly turned on and jittery as me?

I kept my focus on the movie and my mind moved away from anything dirty as I started laughing at the group of dinner party guests running about a huge mansion in a paranoid craze on the TV. I made a joke to Felix about how if we ever hosted a dinner party it would most likely end up just like this. Hopefully with better food since that entree looked like a creamy, lumpy mess.

“Naturally,” Felix said, “I mean what kind of dinner was that supposed to be? Barely an hors d'oeuvre, a bland soup, skipped salad and appetizer completely and then served a gross main course, then no one partook in dessert. It’s a complete disaster!”

“You seem very passionate about this.” I chuckled. “Is there a guide to big fancy dinners in those cookbooks of yours?”

“Yes actually,” He shrugged, a tint of pink in his cheeks, “I get bored easily so reading about dinner etiquette is a step up from nothing.”

“Oh, so you know a lot about big fancy dinners?”

“Am I to suspect that you want me to make you a big fancy dinner now?”

“Well why not? I’ll even take a bit off your plate and make dessert so you don’t have to.”

“So all I have to do is make the other five courses, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Does this mean you’ll dress up for me too? Since it is supposed to be such a fancy feast?”

“Want to see me in a dress?”

“That one Yvette was wearing would look very nice on you.”

“You mean the maid uniform with the short skirt and stiletto heels?”

“Or something,” He laughed as I hit him upside the head.

“Would you get dressed up too? I think you’d look rather nice in a suit.”

“I don’t know, those ties look awfully constricting.”

“Yet the bust that pushes my boobs up to my ears is less constricting?”

“Okay, how about this,” Felix pulled me into his lap, “You buy a nice dress that you like, I get to wear something comfortable, and one of these nights I’ll make you that big six course dinner.”

“Candlelight and rose petals too?” I teased.

“Don’t push it,”

“Fine, fine,” I kissed him.

I wouldn’t go on about how excited I was at the thought of having a grand dinner. Sometimes Felix flourished on meals but this was going to be a whole event. It even gave me an excuse to buy a pretty dress. Something I didn’t really need but secretly kinda longed for. I know that per our arrangement that Felix was going to be dressed more comfortably which no doubt meant casually but I still would have liked to see him in a suit. I’ve seen him in his Neverland clothes, I’ve seen him in modern era clothes, and I’ve even seen him naked at this point. Dress clothes were the only thing that was missing. Maybe I can cram him into a suit a different day.

We cleaned up from lunch and I decided that the day was still young, I was going to go into town and look at dresses. I wasn’t gonna buy anything but I was gonna peruse. Try some things on. Figure out what I like. Cause I’ve never had a need to buy a dress before, I certainly didn’t have the funds for it before. But now I had to find out what I liked and what looked good on me.

I rode into town on my bike and entered the clothes store Felix and I had gone to the day after we found the mansion. I headed over to the dresses and started looking at the different styles and colors they had. There were a lot of options and I wasn’t sure where to start. I decided to just grab whatever was my size and headed to the dressing room.

I have no idea how long I spent trying on dress after dress and contemplating how I looked in all of them. I didn’t like anything too tight or short and with any low cuts anywhere. Big bold patterns also weren’t really my style. I like the skirts that swished around me when I spun and hit near my knee. I know I said I didn’t like anything low cut but I was finding that I liked anything that showed off my shoulders and collarbones and if it happened to dip in the front a bit that was fine too.

If I got something off the shoulder though then I’d need a bra that could be worn strapless which were none of the comfy ones I had at home.

I put all the dresses back on the rack and made my way over to the underwear section. As I was looking for a good strapless bra, just in case I decided to get a strapless dress, I accidentally wandered into the lingerie section of the underwear. I had never understood the obsession with these flimsy things of satin and lace. I guess they were more for looks than practicality.

Would Felix like if I wore something like this?

I shook the thought from my head and dropped the panties back with the others. I need to get out of here before I fall into the horny mess I had just crawled out of. I left the store without buying anything and got back home. Felix was sitting in the dining room with three different cookbooks and a notepad spread before him as he scribbled down dinner ideas.

It was cute to see how seriously he was taking this dinner. I came up behind him and looped my arms around his neck. “How is the meal planning going?” I asked.

“Well enough. There are a lot of recipes in here and I’m having a bit of trouble organizing it all. I’ve already bookmarked five recipes just for soup that I have to choose from.”

“Want my help?”

“Thanks darling, here, look at these recipes and tell me which sounds best to you.” He slid the notepad over to me.

“Hungarian Mushroom Soup,” I circled it, “Sounds different and like I might like it. I know you also really like mushrooms so how about that?”

“Mushroom soup it is.” Felix flipped the page over, “And now I have about a dozen ideas for appetizers.”

“Oh dear,” I laughed. I sat down next to him as we filed through recipe after recipe. We had to call a quits as it got late and we needed to get dinner for tonight. We decided to order out and Felix left to pick up some pizza. We didn’t trust anyone to deliver to us since we were still worried that someone would force us out of the mansion if they found out we had commandeered it.

The house felt entirely too big without Felix around. That was expected since it was a huge mansion but still. Without Felix then it was just me in a big house with nothing to do and no one to talk to. I went to the window and looked at the sky. It was quickly growing dark and I could see stars start to peep out as the sun set. I found the star that lead back to Neverland. My time as a Lost Girl seemed so far away now.

I wonder how much Felix misses Neverland. I know we talked and he said that he would stay with me whether I chose to go back to Neverland or not if the choice was given. But that didn’t mean that he still didn’t miss it. Neverland had been his home for years. Then he gave it all up because I asked him to follow me.

I will forever be thankful that Felix came with me. I don’t know if I could have survived this world with my sanity if he hadn’t been along. It was in these moments when I was alone in this house and it was so painfully quiet that I came upon a realization. I like quiet but I do not like silence. I enjoy being left alone but I do not enjoy solitude. This house, this mansion, as grand a blessing it may be, would be just as cold and harsh as the forest if I didn’t know that Felix also resided within.

It is such a strange thing to be so attached to someone. I never feared loss. My whole life had been plagued by it. Lost my family. Lost Pan. Lost Neverland. And yet, not a one of those bothered me as badly as the thought of losing Felix did.

Felix came home and with his return my troubled thoughts ran away. We sat down to eat our pizza and watch another movie. I was starting to nod off but Felix made sure to get me up to my room before I fell asleep this time. Felix bid me goodnight with a quick kiss before returning to his own room. It pained my heart to watch him leave. I guess I thought that after this morning we could have spent tonight together again. Seeing as how embarrassing the wake up call had been though it was probably for the best that we were separated. We were just starting our intimate relationship after all. I didn’t want to push too far by demanding we sleep in the same bed together.

One day though. One day.

~~~

Today had been amazing as far as Felix was concerned. It had started rough but the rest of it had turned out far better than he could have ever imagined. He thought that things between you and him had taken a bad turn that morning when he explained that he desired you. It was one thing to know that you desired him in private but it was another to admit it directly.

Then you showed up in his doorway. You opened your heart up and told him that you wanted him too. You didn’t want to run away from this growing intimacy between the two of you. Then you said you wanted to give him a handjob and he nearly popped a blood vessel. You and your wide eyes full of trust, lust, and curiosity.

It took every ounce of his remaining brainpower to help guide you along his body. The feel of your small soft hand wrapped around him, your lips on his chest, your voice softly pleading for him to cum. He was lost to you.

As nervous as he was having you touch him in such a way it was nothing to the pure excited terror that occurred when it was his turn to please you. You trusted him so easily to make you feel good and he wanted nothing more than to meet, maybe even exceed your expectations. Inch by inch your body had been exposed to him. Something he had envisioned a hundred times before finally laid out before him and he was allowed--nay--encouraged to touch all of it.

Listening to the noises you made as sparks of pleasure lit your body was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. His hands shook slightly as he held you and he prayed that you didn’t notice how nervous he truly was as his hand slid beneath the band of your panties. The feel of your slick arousal as he rubbed your clit was nothing compared to how it felt to have your hot, wet, cunt clench around his fingers.

He was making you feel good. You were moaning his name and begging him to do more. It was far better than any fantasy he had created in his head. He watched your face closely as you came and made sure to burn it into his mind. You were just so beautiful when in the throws of pleasure. He would have kept you there in his bed all day but after your reaction to his comment about devouring your pussy he figured he should slow things down.

It was hard not to show how much he wanted to drag you back to the bedroom while you were watching the movie but he knew that you probably needed the breather. He said he was gonna go at your pace so he wasn’t going to try anything until you told him it was okay.

The dinner planning helped take his mind off of it. He had been thinking about making a fancy dinner like he had seen in his books for you one day. Seemed that day was coming sooner than expected. If he was gonna make you a fancy meal then he was gonna do it right. You had been gone for so long in town that you had missed his initial frenzy as he tore through the cookbooks and combed over every recipe at least three times trying to figure out what you would most like, what would impress you.

It felt like there was a lot riding on this. He was able to whittle down his ideas a tad and that’s when you showed up again with your innocent smile and warm laugh. His anxiety eased and he breathed easier having you next to him again.

When night fell and he said goodnight to you he meandered back to his room. His big, dark, cold, and lonely room. He thought of how it felt to fall asleep next to you and wake up beside you. He didn’t realize how big his bed was until you weren’t next to him and in his arms.

It wouldn’t be a big deal if he asked you to sleep next to him, would it? It wasn’t like he was inviting you to his bed for anything explicit. He just wanted to fall asleep next to you again.

After about an hour of tossing and turning unable to fall asleep Felix had enough. “I am risking looking like a desperate idiot,” Felix muttered to himself as he swung out of bed and went to his door. He pulled it open and was shocked to see you waiting on the other side.

“Oh hi,” You said, the hand you had raised to knock quickly dropped back to your side, “I was um...I was wondering if you were still awake.”

“I am,” Felix said. No shit! She can obviously see you are awake, genius. Felix’s mind chastised him. “Did you need something?”

“I was--well I had been thinking--I was wondering if you--” You were stammering, your gaze lost to the ground as you tried to find the right words to say.

“Do you want to know why I am up?” Felix asked, deciding to take pity on his poor girl.

“Uh...yes?” You said, finally peeking up at him through your long lashes.

“I was coming to see you.” He told you, “I couldn’t fall asleep and I was wondering if I could tempt you to spend the night with me.”

“Really?” Your eyes widened in disbelief and glee.

Felix smiled. “Yes, really,” He laced his hand with yours, “Was that something you’d be open to?”

“Yes!” Came your immediate reply. “I mean um, yes, that sounds very nice.”

“Come here little girl,” Felix pulled you inside and gave you a kiss. He tugged you along over to the bed and let you nestle yourself in. He got under the covers as well and reached out to grab you and pull you next to him. Your head tucked under his chin and your body melted against him.

“Goodnight, darling,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight, Felix,” You sighed happily. It wasn’t long after your soft snores filled his ears that Felix fell asleep as well. The warmth of your body curled against him banishing the loneliness of his big empty bed once and for all.

---

(Previous) (Next)

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 55: Disclosure

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Fifty-Five: Disclosure

Note: I know you’ve been waiting a long time for the answers, and now you’ve got them. This is the beginning of the end in regards to the secrets surrounding Belial’s Arc and what he hopes to gain. Enjoy… if you can.

(-~-)

It didn’t take long for everyone present in the house to make their way to the living room, especially once it was revealed that information pertaining to them had been unearthed. Despite the fact that Brenowin and Morgan hadn’t known Sirrus for more than about a day, the fact that everyone else seemed to know or otherwise welcome him was really all that it took for them to be willing to at least listen to him. And from what they could tell, he had no compelling reason to lie to them about anything.

Making the executive decision that it was probably best that they all know about what was going on, Dante called Lady and Trish, both of whom were luckily not far away, and seemed to have just finished a job a few hours prior. They agreed to come over and see what was going on despite the fact that it was probably a bit too early for them. They both sounded like they had just woken up when they’d answered the phone. That would surely get him shot in the head later on.

But what was more of a surprise to anyone that knew him was the fact that Vergil had actually made a similar decision. Taking a moment to step aside and make a phone call, Vergil had subsequently disappeared for several minutes to go and fetch Magnolia, something that had gone completely unnoticed until they had come back through the front door together just a short while after. It wasn’t a new notion that Vergil was capable of benign stealthy, but none of them had realized until then that he was able to dip out of a crowded room and just disappear from everyone’s consciousness. Perhaps they had spent too much time actively tuning him out until now? Even Dante hadn’t noticed at the time, more than likely because he’d been talking to Lady on the phone.

Within a few minutes of their return, Lady and Trish came around, and they had brought along Morrison. According to them, they had run into him as they were leaving, the middle man presumably interested in getting in contact with them to offer a job. Or, at the very least curious as to how well the last job they had been on together had gone for them. Dante wouldn’t have been surprised if Morrison had been the one to provide them with whatever work they had been doing lately. He was resourceful like that.

As was Ludwig family tradition at that point, Flora made a fresh pot of tea that everyone was welcome to share. If she was going to sit there and listen to Sirrus talk for goodness knew how long, she wasn’t going to do it without a cup of tea in her hands, especially since Magnolia had brought a tray of macaroons with her when she’d arrived. Vergil’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect, in her opinion.

“Ok, so what’s up?” Nero said nonchalantly as he sat down on the couch next to V. Considering everything that had happened recently, he was pretty sure that nothing Sirrus could say would be particularly shocking to him, and he was hoping that he wouldn’t be proven wrong in that regard. “You said that you had something to tell us?”

Sirrus nodded, watching as everyone settled in and made themselves comfortable. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about repeating himself. The only person who wasn’t there was Nico, but it would have taken several hours for her to reach their location. Or perhaps it wouldn’t, considering her driving skills... 

“First, I’d like to start by making it clear that I have obtained some of this information from Aluta and Willow, so if you’d like more in-depth information, you will have to contact them. I’m just the messenger in that regard.”

Various members of the team either shrugged or nodded in response, silently indicating that they would like for him to continue. He leaned back against the corner of the wall nearest to the window, the warmth from the fireplace licking his subconscious as he tuned its presence out, for the most part, noting its existence, but not sparing much in the way of attention to it. He drew a long breath before proceeding, sure that he was about to ruin several people’s day in the process. Oh, how he hated that sort of thing. Being the bearer of bad news was never pleasant, but in cases like this, it was a necessary evil. One way or another, someone was going to have to tell them. It might as well be him.

Gesturing for him to continue, Vergil sat down in one of the armchairs nearest to the couch. He wasn’t quite sitting next to V, but he was as close to doing to as it was possible to be without actually doing it. The young summoner seemed to silently note this for a moment, allowing his gaze to travel towards how father, but otherwise not reacting. He was clearly anticipating bad news, and considering everything that was going on and the fact that he was locked in a losing battle against a devil prince, that was more than understandable.

“Now that we have that out of the way, I’d like to say that I’m genuinely sorry to always be the bearer of bad news in these instances. What am I, the wild hunt?” Sirrus scoffed and shook his head before realizing that that at least half of the people in the room didn’t have any idea what that even was. He then sighed and folded his arms around himself. “Would you prefer that I get straight to the point, or go into a bit more detail?”

“Considering the implications of what I assume you are here to tell us, I would prefer the former and then the latter,” V said softly, rubbing his arm absentmindedly in an attempt to soothe it. Just thinking about what was going on was enough to make the malevolent ink that coursed his veins tingle from excitement, something that the rest of his biological composition didn’t approve of or appreciate very much.

Putting his arm behind his back, Sirrus nodded in a manner more akin to that of a curtsy than anything else. He glanced over at Morgan who in turn nodded in agreement. She didn’t need him to ask for her to be able to tell that he was awaiting her permission to continue. He then cleared his throat before leaning over and pouring a few sips of wine that he summarily gulped down in the least refined manner possible. He hadn’t spoken a word yet, and he already hated this conversation.

“Fair enough. I suppose nothing worthwhile is accomplished by beating around the bush all day, is there? We all have things to do and places to be.” He went in for another topped-off glass, indirectly signifying to everyone in the room that he almost certainly didn’t want to be here talking about this right now. “The Ludwin family sent some of their family members to go and investigate Belial’s activities and they have found an almost definitive answer as to what he wants with both Morgan and V. I trust that you don’t need me to tell you it’s not to simply spread the good word.”

“No, I suppose you do not.” Vergil wasn’t amused, but he was also keenly aware of the fact that Sirrus hadn’t exactly meant that in a humorous way. He’d clearly been using his cynicism and sarcasm as a coping device. “Continue.”

With a casual shrug, Sirrus turned his attention back to V and Morgan. “V, do you recall what you said about the attack that destroyed Lympha about three years ago?”

To the surprise of no one, they both nodded. Morgan looked as though she would become sick to her stomach at the mention of that place, but she did remember. There was no way that she would ever forget. V looked down at the floor for a moment in discomfort, considering the possibility of speaking. But when he finally did, it wasn’t about the town. “How did you hear about that, Sirrus? You were outside.”

Sirrus nodded in agreement, reaching for another glass of wine but finding that the bottle was a bit too close to being empty for his liking. “Your quite right. I was with Nico. But I have very good hearing, and I am not at all ashamed to admit that I did, in fact, eavesdrop on you. I can see why you’d find that strange, however. My apologies if I’ve upset you or caused you undue confusion.”

V seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding, brushing his concerns aside. He had done nothing to offend him. He would know if he’d done something to cause V any distress to the young summoner. That made sense. After all, Sirrus was not exactly a normal person, and he had several abilities that he knew very little about. “Think nothing of it. But please, what does this have to do with what happened in… that place?”

Leaning back again, Sirrus adjusted his shoulders. “It seems that before Belial disbanded his cult and destroyed just about every trace of it, he had tasked them to take care of something important. And that “something important” was in Lympha.” He turned to Morgan, his focus lingering on her for a moment as he attempted to find a tactful way to put into words what he wanted to say. “You made mention of an old story. Something about a prophecy?”

Morgan nodded. “Yea, it was something about how some settlers were run out of the area a few hundred years back on suspicion of being witches, and the leader of the coven’s son was killed before he could be used as a vessel of sorts of a ritual to bring back their fallen leader. She cursed the town or something like that. I think it was… “ she stopped, clearly unable to remember what all she was supposed to remember in that situation.

“And onto this land, I lay a binding of blood and bone. For never again shall the shadow depart. And the snow shall run red with the blood of the self-righteous until upon the altar of the Lord of the Disquieting the flesh of the so chosen repository is offered and the blood is spilled, melding their beings into one. And so he shall walk the damned soil again and hold dominion over the dominion of humanity as the storm holds dominion over the sky.” Sirrus looked displeased to have had to even speak those words. He didn’t like curses at the best of times, but full-on generational damnation? That was going several layers too far into the depths of insanity. “That is the first half of the actual prophecy. It was quite the thing to translate from Enochian, but I managed to do it on short notice once it was discovered in the Ludwig trove. Aluta deduced from what I shared with her about your story that it was relevant.”

Nodding in consideration, Dante seemed to linger on the words for a while. He clearly understood them, at least for the most part, but he was still at the end of his rope in regards to what that was related to in their exact circumstance. “Yea, that’s pretty metal and all, but what precisely does it have to do with V and Morgan?”

Realizing that he could stand to be a bit more transparent about it, Sirrus looked over at Morgan, displeased about what he needed to say. “The curse was created by a woman named Atropa Lundwick nearly exactly 500 years ago. She was the only survivor of a heinous attack by locals, and she was cursed herself at the time by those same townspeople after the deaths of her family. They apparently enchanted their crops to help them through the hard winter as an act of kindness, and they all nearly starved to death as a direct result of refusing to eat food that was “tainted by unnatural forces.” She was the matriarch of what you now know as the Ludwig family. That curse is the reason that members of the Ludwig family only ever have daughters. The locals incorrectly assumed that that would be a disadvantage to her. Fools.”

Flora and Magnolia both looked visibly horrified by the statement, but not at all angry. A sort of deep sorrow seemed to overtake them as they collectively realized the unintended butterfly effect that this still had on things in so many of their lives even to this day. It was a tragedy that had borne more tragedy, and no one had really emerged the winner in the situation. What a painful and shameful legacy for their ancestor to have left behind. “What does this have to do with V and Morgan, Sirrus.”

Taking note of the pain in Magnolia’s voice as she asked him that question, he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head in deep dissatisfaction. “For a cause to have any bearing, it has to have a source of anchoring, a natural or unnatural force to draw from. The Ludwin family at that time had dealing with several powerful demons as a result of their somewhat Umbran ancestry. One of the demons they guarded against was Belial, but once tragedy struck, Atropa sought the tutelage of the very devil she had sought to destroy, her grief gaining the upper hand as she mourned the death of her only son. She formed a pack with him, and that pact led to the enforcement of the curse. She used the power he lent her to see forward into a time that had not yet occurred for him, and the prophecy was borne of the outcome that favored him. She promised him everything if he succeeded, and ever since then, his influence strengthened by her curse has allowed him dominion for one season of the year over the town of Lympha to seek out his vessel. Her coven had never intended to sacrifice her son to him, but he had requested as much as he would have been a powerful asset to a devil prince who was physically incapable of crossing over into the human world.”

Morgan looked horrified. “So that’s what was wrong with all the people in the town? They were being subconsciously influenced by a curse and a demon all at once? That’s why the animals and anything else that ventured into the woods disappeared into the darkness? Because he was taking them to the underworld?”

Sirrus made a gesture to indicate that she was half right. “You’re mostly correct. Belial could not bring them into the underworld due to the fact that he could not open a gate, and there were no existing ones in the area. But he fed off of their fear, and he warped them into the horrible creatures that were sometimes seen around the town. Like in the story about the dog that you told V. At night his corruptive darkness changed those weak enough to be changed, and assimilated those who would not bend to his will, making the forest stronger. And it construed in a cycle unending until the day that his cult came to the city… looking for both of you.”

It was Nero’s turn to ask a question now, the young devil hunter clearly displeased by everything he had just learned. “But what did they want with V and Morgan as opposed to literally everyone else in that cursed hellhole of a town?”

The red-haired man gave him a sad smirk. “What did the Order of the Sword want with you in the grand scheme of their master plan?”

Nero seemed to think about the question for a moment before he visibly paled and felt the breath leave his lungs. Oh. Oh no. He didn’t mean that… He couldn’t mean that… 

“On their 20th birthday, every one of the young men in the town was compelled to enter the woods. This was a test on Belial’s part. He is the Lord of Disquieting from the prophecy. Apparently, he was testing the mental resolve of each of the potential vessels in the town. The one who could resist the incredibly powerful and increasingly strong pull of his influence would be the one he would pick. And that is how he located V. V was basically entirely resistant to all but the very strongest of his mental barrages, save for the one occasion with the full moon which was literally the anniversary of the curse being placed from what I can tell. And more importantly, why his cult descended upon the town that day. Their master specifically wanted V. And he wants him alive. But there was another half to that prophesy.”

Brenowin looked ill suddenly. He shared a concerned look with Sirrus and then at his sister, clearly realizing something that none of the rest of them did. But he couldn’t speak of it, and he had a feeling that Sirrus would do so for him anyway. “You don’t mean…”

Much to his displeasure, he nodded. “Unfortunately, I do. I can tell from the ill look on your face that you know of what I speak. The cult must have made mention to it, then?” He watched as Bren nodded and then looked over at his sister, a look of immense concern on his face. He then continued, wanting to get this off of his chest. “And upon the twin thrones of darkness shall sit the vessel of darkness and the eyes of prophecy, she who will be gifted future sight as I was and who shall make material the brood of the machinations of the lord of shadows, Insanity made physical. For only through the union of darkness and foresight can be brought true retribution to cleanse humanity of their petty mortality.”

Everyone in the room seemed to linger on those words for a few moments before slowly coming to the realization of what they implied. And each one of them looked varying degrees of physically ill as they all came to the same unanimously horrifying conclusion. And V especially was mentally kicking himself. Why had he not considered the fact that Belial’s cult could have been the same cult that had killed the people of Lympha a few years ago? Perhaps the devil prince’s dark influence had been what had made him feel compelled to stay in the first place. The demonic part of him could have been drawn to the aura that his influence provided… 

“So you’re saying that… Belial wants to use V as a vessel that he can, what, possess so that he can come to the human world and take everything over, and then he wants Morgan to… so they can… and she’d be… That’s…” Dante looked between his nephews and his brother, noting their stunned silence and the will to live exit V’s body with silent indignation. He’d actually prefer dying to a fate like that.

“Quite literally the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” Nero said breathlessly, looking over at his brother and the horrified shivering young teen girl sitting next to him. He couldn’t tell which of those options was the worse fate. Being used as a meat puppet for darkness incarnate was bad, but the idea of being stuck with him to create descendants of his bloodline purely for the purpose of helping to subjugate the rest of the world was literally too vile for him to comprehend properly.

And with the will of a Devil Lord in the body of a descendant of the great dark knight Sparda, he could undo every safeguard and protective ward your father placed with enough time and the proper know-how. And he could easily gain access to both… after all, who would stand a chance against that kind of power…” Lucia looked mournful and horrified. She couldn’t imagine something so dark coming to pass. No one deserved that, but V? No one could deserved that fate less. And Morgan… 

… Our father’s spell stops the possibility of a demon as powerful as Belial crossing over into the human world, but possession of the movement of power and consciousness into another living being. Only his essence needs to pass over… and in that respect, his horrific and contrite plan is actually entirely possible. And I loathe that.”

“Over my dead body,” Magnolia said, genuinely angry. She didn’t even bother to hold back the tears that were forming in her eyes. “I will not allow the momentary hubris of my one forebearers to lead to the damnation of two children, and by proxy, the entirety of humanity, over the mistakes of a few people nearly a millennium ago. This dies with her, as it damn well should have back then.”

Sirrus nodded in agreement. “And that is why I am here today. To propose the idea of stopping that before it starts. We need to go on a little road trip. And we need to do it now. I need you to see the conduit. And I need you to see it now.”

(-~-)

And there it is, Belial’s horrible plan finally revealed! Let me know what you think in the comments! I had a blast writing this when I got back from grocery shopping today. You all take care. I’ll see you next week on Wedsnday! And for those of you who dropped in on my Tumblr account during DMC OC Week, thanks for the love and support! See you in the comment section, and stay safe out there! Enjoy the nightmare fuel! Bye Bye!

[plus-size-reader]

Creep pt.2

Victor Criss x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2424 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Victor finally gets the date he was so desperate for

Part 1 

—————————————————————————————————

He’d figured it out.

It took him all week, and he’d nearly burst a blood vessel while trying to figure out what it was he wanted to do, but Victor knew now.  

You specified that you wanted him to take you to dinner. That was what you wanted if you were going to believe that he had feelings for you, and he definitely did.

So, all he had to do was figure out was where to take a girl like you, a girl he really liked, without his friends ever finding out that the dinner date happened.

It was a tall order, but after all this time, he had an idea.

All he had to do was make sure that the guys were busy, and he would be free to take you anywhere he wanted. Then, as far as wooing you went, he already had a whole dinner date set up in the form of a picnic in the quarry.

There weren’t a lot of first date level restaurants around here that were any good, and the ones that were around, he certainly couldn’t afford or wasn’t allowed back into.

Most of the business owners in Derry were wary of the Bower’s gang, and they had been banned from most of the fancier establishments.

Hell, even the milkshake bar on the other side of town had threatened to have them arrested if they ever went back. Though, he sort of understood where they were coming from, after Henry spray painted some really obscene things on the side of their building.

Victor just hoped the saying was right, and the thought behind his evening with you would be enough to show you just how much you meant to him because the picnic he’d planned was pretty extensive.

He had gone out and picked up everything you could have wanted, aside from the burgers he was going to pick up right before picking you up at your house, so they wouldn’t get cold.

He had a blanket that he could spread out over the edge of the rock quarry, looking down over the water, and he even got these tiny little cakes from the bakery down the street that he figured you’d like.

Girls liked those kinds of things, he’d asked Belch.

All in all, it was shaping up to be a pretty good date. The only thing Vic still had to do was figure out how to get the guys out of his hair for the night.

The worst thing he could possibly imagine happening would be Henry, Patrick, and to a lesser extent Belch, crashing your picnic and ruining his chances with you completely.

The blonde was already well aware that he was on thin ice with you, which was why this probationary date had to go well. He wanted to show you that he was capable of this.

That he was more than just some thug who made fun of pretty girls for their extra weight and relationship status, two things Henry went pretty hard at you for.

Henry and Patrick both liked to comment on how you would never have a boyfriend because of your size, and how you would probably die a virgin cause nobody would hit that.

In fact, there were very few things about you that the more alpha of his friends wouldn’t torment you for, something that, the more he thought about it, made Victor upset.

You had a point that day in the hall.

He had never really said anything nasty about you to your face, but he hadn’t stopped them from doing it either. He just stood back and let his friends treat you like the dirt beneath their boots.

It was hardly the foundation for a functional relationship, but he wanted to try. For now, all he could do was hope that he’d planned such an amazing date that it would make up for all those terrible things.

Thankfully, before Victor could further drive himself crazy, his three best, and only, friends came around the corner and made a B-line for him. This was it, if this went well, he would be home free for his date tonight.

...But if it didn’t, he had no idea how he was going to explain it to you.

There was no way you would give him a second chance if he cancelled your date to spend the night riding around in Belch’s Trans Am, listening to hair metal.

It had to happen tonight.

“Where have you been?” Belch asked, the only one of the three to even address him once they’d made it to his side.

Henry and Patrick continued to talk about whatever it was that had them so enthralled.

It wasn’t new, and didn’t even really bother Vic, but it was something he had never realized before. They didn’t even really seem to care if he was there or not, which he never would have noticed before talking to you.

Somehow you had managed to turn everything Victor knew upside down and he wasn't sure that he liked it. He wasn’t blind to the fact that his friends weren’t the best people before, but it had never hurt him to be around them.

They were the only friends he had, even if they weren’t the greatest guys of all time.

They were what he had.

“I had to run a few errands, no big deal” the blonde shrugged, hoping he’d done a good enough job at hiding his true intentions so that Belch wouldn’t ask any questions.

He wouldn’t have any answers for him if he did.

This whole thing was new to Vic, who had never really liked a girl this much in the first place, but he was doing what he thought would work. Lying, thankfully, wasn’t new to him.

At the very least, he could rely on his quick wit and the fact that two of the three of his friends couldn’t have been more oblivious to what he was doing and the third wasn’t the brightest to begin with.

It was starting to look like his little scheme would actually work.

Belch didn’t pry any further, something that Victor was glad for, and before it could get any more awkward or he gave himself a stroke, he asked what he’d been trying to ask for days, but didn’t have the nerve to.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

He tried to make it as nonchalant and casual as he could, as if he was just inquiring about the plans he knew they had indefinitely.

Even if the four of them were just going to walk around Henry’s property, or terrorize kids in the park, they always did something together. It wasn’t the sort of question that should have roused any suspicion.

Still, Vic couldn’t help but feel like his entire plot was unraveling at the seams and it was only a matter of time before the gang found out what he was doing and slaughtered him.

It wouldn't go over well. “Nothing, I gotta take care of some things for my pop, so you three girls are on your own” Henry shrugged, not offering any more explanation than that. Whatever it was, if Butch was involved, they knew not to press it.

Though, Victor already felt a little better knowing that Henry wouldn’t be skulking around, potentially finding the two of you in the woods.

Henry already had it out for you more than anyone else because of that time he asked you to see a movie with him and you said no. That rejection had really stuck a bur in his side, and it surely had something to do with his cruelty toward you now.

He wasn’t used to hearing no, after all.

Patrick and Belch had other plans too, it seemed, not really interested in hanging out with any of the others of them without Henry. If it wasn’t the whole gang, it was weird for them.

So, it seemed like Victor was in the clear.

All he had to do now was show you the time of your life and hope that you actually gave him a chance. A girl like you should have never even agreed to go out with him in the first place, so he wasn’t going to ruin it.

You deserved the best, and he was doing all he could to provide it.

~

Vic was sure he’d never been this nervous in his entire life.

Before now, he’d been so preoccupied worrying about the threat of the gang finding out what he was doing, or you changing your mind and rejecting him that he hadn’t given any thought at all to how this would feel.

Waiting for you to get here was going to kill him.

All Victor could think about was whether or not you were coming, or if something had happened to you on the way here. Maybe you decided that this wasn’t a good idea and were staying home, or worse, maybe you had another date.

Whatever it was, it was taking you way too long to get here and every second that passed by, he was sure you weren’t going to show.

You had stopped him in the hallway after the last bell rang, signalling the end of the day, and told him that you would meet him in the Quarry, because he didn’t drive, which didn’t seem like that big of a deal at first.

No good first date had even begun by walking awkwardly in silence through the woods, and it was smart to meet up for the more romantic parts of the evening. However, now that it was here, Vic had to wonder if it was all some clever ploy to leave him in the quarry alone.

It seemed cruel, but after everything he and the guys had done to you, it would be a lie to say that he didn’t deserve it.

He couldn’t have blamed you if you hated him.

Thankfully though, as the sun began creeping down and the air cooled that much more under the waterfront’s influence, you came walking up the path.

You had to admit that when he first suggested coming to the Quarry this late in the evening, you weren’t sure. It still seemed like this whole thing could be some joke, or something put on by Henry to humiliate you.

After all, Victor was the most unassuming of the four of them and if you were going to agree to go out with any of the Bower’s gang, it would have been him.

You just weren’t sure how to feel.

...but you were relieved to see Victor, right where he said he’d been, sitting on a beach towel or something.

It didn’t seem like a set up for a prank, but you weren’t fully convinced until you reached his side and saw the huge set up he’d spread out for you, right on the edge of the cliff.

You were far enough back to avoid falling off or dropping anything into the water below but close enough to see how pretty it was up here. You had never been here before, which had only solidified Victor’s plans to bring you.

The quarry was one of the only things in Derry that was worth seeing, and the fact that you’d lived here this long and still hadn’t come up here was blasphemous to him.

“Hey, I was getting worried you wouldn’t come” Vic called, the first to speak between the two of you. He did his best to play it off like a joke but it seemed like you knew how nervous he was.

Of course you did.

You were nervous to do this too.

Putting yourself out there wasn’t really something you did often or were good at, and you felt like you had taken a huge risk in agreeing to do this with him. However, as far as dates went, this really was worth the risk.

No one had ever gone through so much trouble just to impress you.

“You get stood up often?” you teased, sitting down on the spot across from him which you assumed was meant for you. It would have been sort of strange if he was waiting on someone else too.

It was a joke of course, but what you didn’t know was that he had. In general, Vic didn’t date too often just because he didn’t have a great history with this sort of thing.

He wasn’t exactly a ladies man after all.

“Sometimes” he shrugged, hoping that wouldn’t scare you off. It was much more honest than he was used to being, with anyone, but for some reason, you brought it out of him.

The two of you seemed to bring something different out of each other and as strange as it was for both of you, it was nice.

Victor, for one, felt like he could be who he was around you. It didn’t matter how vulnerable or goofy he wanted to be, there wasn’t going to be any awful consequences like there would be with the gang.

You didn’t seem to care if he wanted to be a geek.

“That’s okay. Me too” you shrugged, grabbing one of the cans of soda he offered you.

Your admission made him laugh, of course, because he assumed that you were joking, but after a few seconds of silence, he realized just how wrong he’d been.

You were completely serious, but that didn’t make any sense to him. You were beautiful and the fact that you had been stood up on a date didn’t compute for him.

Who in their right mind would have skipped out on a date with you? Victor certainly wouldn’t have, even considering how difficult you had made getting here for him.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad they were so stupid because now you’re here with me” he sighed, doing his best to keep from looking you in the face after saying something like that but you were happy he had.

That was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to you and as shocked as you were that he was the one saying it, you weren’t going to argue.

“I’m glad too. You’re surprisingly sweet, Vic” you allowed, taking a sip of your drink without much more between the two of you. This was hardly where you saw the evening going, but it was for the better.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

[toraodwaterlaw]

Taken Apart

After Vergo’s attack, Corazon escapes to the coast with Law. They’re both alive for the time being, but duty soon pulls them apart. 

Pt. 1 of a 2 part CoraLives!AU story. 4.5k, minor warning for a panic attack and for non-graphic description of Law dissecting/experimenting with his powers on himself.

-

Everything hurt down to the rough chop slap of waves against wood. Law groaned and forced his eyes open. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he would have thought that everything that had happened on Minion had been a dream because he was back on the ship that had ferried him from island to island over the last six months. He lifted himself on trembling limbs and slumped into a seated position.

“Cora-san?”

The towering blond was hunched over on the far side of the small vessel, his blood stained shirt and coat discarded while he wrapped bandages around his torso. He froze for a moment and then continued tending to his wounds. At first Law thought that maybe Cora hadn’t heard him. His voice was frustratingly weak, even to his own ears. Then Cora sighed, put the bandages aside, and pulled his shirt and coat back on.

“Commander Donquixote Rosinante from the marine headquarters,” he said, voice low and clear. “Marine Code 01746.” When he turned around, Law saw that there were tears forming in his eyes. “I’ve been with the navy from the start. I’ve been undercover so that I could try to prevent my brother from causing a tragedy in the future.”

Law had known or at least suspected most of this for some time. Then he thought of the message he’d foolishly delivered into Vergo’s hands. Was Cora upset with him for ruining his years long mission? He looked away at the angry grey sea and then back at the man— the marine— in front of him. “Why are you telling me all of this now? I already knew.”

Cora hung his head. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I didn’t want you to hate me.” He shook his head and blinked. “Wait— you knew?”

“Of course I knew. I’m not stupid.”

“No. No you’re not.” Cora’s startled expression softened as the start of a smile crept on to his face. “But if you knew, why did you ask me before?”

Law balled his hands into fists and wriggled in place. “I just wanted to see how you would answer. To know if… if you cared enough to lie about something like that. For me.”

Cora huffed out a soft laugh. He reached a long arm toward Law and then aborted the gesture. Instead, he got to his feet, his smile gone. In its place was a grim, determined look that Law hadn’t seen since Cora had confronted him about his full name months ago.

“You asked why I was telling you this now.”

He nodded his head back to the cliffs behind him. Law followed the motion and craned his neck to try to figure out what he was supposed to be looking at. There, at the top of the snow lined rocks, was what appeared to be a giant cage. He must have made some sort of face because Cora nodded in response.

“Doffy is up to something,” Cora said. “I don’t know what but I do know there are marines there who are probably in a mountain of trouble. I can’t let them face the Donquixote Family alone. Not when…” His eyes shut and when he opened them again there was a fire there. “It’s my responsibility to stop him.”

Law was beyond tired and so it took a moment for the pieces to fall together. When they did, his heart plummeted. “You’re going back?” He grabbed the side of the boat to push himself up to his feet. Between his exhaustion and the rocking from the waves, it was all he could do to keep upright. He squeezed his eyes shut while he fought back the turning of his stomach. “I’m coming with you.”

Cora frowned at him. “Law… You can barely stand.”

“And you were shot. A lot.”

Law took an angry step forward. The whole world seemed to pitch around him. He braced for a fall into the water and instead found himself in Cora’s hands. The world continued spinning and he realized he hadn’t upset the boat. He was just too ill and weak to move around in a boat without making himself dizzy.

It made him furious. He felt tears prick at his eyes in his anger.

The entire top of his head was enveloped by a large hand. “As angry as Doffy might be, I’m his brother. He won’t kill me. I’ll be back,” Cora said. “It’s you and the Op-Op fruit that Doffy wants. So what I need is to know you’ll be there when I come for you. That means you need to get out of here, start figuring out that fruit of yours, and get better.”

Law lifted a hand and looked down at it. He’d felt something the moment he’d swallowed down his first bite of the bitter fruit. Since then that feeling had only grown. He couldn’t yet figure out the shape of it but he could see the outlines.

That didn’t mean he agreed with leaving Cora behind. Unfortunately Cora knew him well enough by now to head off any argument.

“Calm.” Law felt the now familiar subtle tingle of Cora’s powers washing over him. Cora took a long legged step back. He pulled up the anchor and then grabbed hold of the rope that would take him back up the cliff. “This will ensure that you and anything you touch is silent. It will help you slip away without anyone noticing so that you can get to Swallow. Wait for me there. I won’t be more than a day or two.”

Law marveled when he was met with absolute silence as he slapped his hands on the wood of the boat. His eyes widened and that drew out another smile from Cora. Law scrambled to his feet, ready to latch onto Cora’s leg if he needed to. Before he got more than a handful of shaky steps, Cora was already partly up the rope with his foot on the bow of the ship.

Something about the way he was looking at him made Law stop. Cora’s smile became so wide and bright that it seemed at odds with the cloud filled sky above. Law blinked up at him.

“Law…” Cora’s smile broadened even further, reaching impossible levels. “I love you.”

With that, he kicked off the boat and set it adrift. Despite his frustration at being sent away, Law couldn’t help but smile himself. That feeling settled in his heart and bubbled into silent laughter. A sudden gust caught the sail and before he could do anything to stop it, the ship had carried him away from the rocky shores of Minion. Law didn’t move. He stayed rooted in place, unblinking, until Cora disappeared from view.

That effervescent feeling faded fast as the sounds of battle increased. Gunfire echoed through the air and still there was that strange, horrible cage. Law tried to focus on sailing to Swallow as Cora had instructed but he couldn’t stop from looking over his shoulder at the island he was leaving behind.

His vision started to blur so he swiped a hand across his eyes to wipe away tears, only to find there were no tears there. He shook his head but still his vision failed to clear.

“Dammit.”

All Cora had asked of him was to survive and he couldn’t even do that.

Then he realized he’d heard himself speak, which meant Cora’s powers had worn off. His chest tightened. He could feel panic welling up. Now was not the time for that. He had to look at it rationally. In all likelihood, Cora had redirected his energy somewhere more important or Law had simply travelled out of the range of his powers. He wasn’t sure if that’s how these things worked but they had to abide by some sort of rules. Cora had told him that Devil Fruits weren’t magic. They had their limits.

But there was nothing he could tell himself that would stop him from seeing Cora riddled with bullets, the snow beneath him turning red.

Law’s breathing quickened until each gulp of air was too shallow to sustain him. He felt his lungs burn and he started to cough. His vision, already blurred, darkened at the edges. He braced himself by putting his hands on his knees but it wasn’t enough to stop him from swaying. Hot tears welled up and fell from his cheeks as he cursed his body for betraying him at every turn. At this rate he was going to black out and then there was no saying what would happen to him. If he was lucky, he’d regain consciousness before he drifted too far off course. Unlucky and Doflamingo would find him after eluding the marines once more.

He curled into himself and wrapped his arms around the back of his head. He was so tired of it all. He wanted it all to be over. For weeks now, he’d been ready to lay down and wait for the end. In all likelihood, he would have given up a long time ago if not for Cora. He owed it to Cora to keep fighting.

He squeezed his arms tighter to shut out the sound of his own rasping breath, of slapping waves, and distant canonfire. His heart skipped an uneasy beat and a shiver ran through him. He suddenly felt very aware of everything wrong in his body. It wasn’t simply a matter of feeling the pain and numbness in his skin or the fire burning in his lungs. This time he felt aware of every organ— practically every cell— in his body as though he could see them spread out before him like a frog sliced open for dissection.

He slowly unwound his arms and lifted his head. He looked down at his hands, turned palm up. He looked the same but he felt different. It felt like if he tried hard enough, he could see the deposits of lead that had painted his flesh white. He blinked and realized what he had taken for a continued haze in his vision was actually some sort of blue glow. When he reached out he could feel a light buzzing film around him. He was, it would seem, surrounded by a sphere of energy. It reminded him of the way Cora’s powers worked.

Was this the manifestation of his own powers? He had no sooner noticed it when it disappeared by withdrawing into him. Try as he might, he couldn’t make it appear again. He had no idea what he’d done to summon it in the first place.

He had more immediate problems, though. The sea had grown choppier as wind picked up. If he continued to let himself be buffeted by the elements, he could end up capsized. Knowing that his powers were really there, even if he couldn’t yet figure out how to access them, helped to focus him. He could survive this. He would survive this.

With that thought in mind, he wrangled the ship back under his control and finished sailing to Swallow. He’d spent a lot of time at sea since he’d joined the Family and especially in the last six months as he and Cora jumped from location to location, but he’d never been more eager to reach land than he was at that moment. It felt like a finish line in an impossibly long race. 

Law gathered what he could from the supplies left in the boat.  A knife. His pack with a change of clothes and a bedroll. Flint. It was the most he could easily carry on his own and should be enough for him to hold on until Cora returned. He jumped out of the boat as soon as he felt the bottom scrape land. The shock of the cold water jolted him wide awake and then, just as suddenly, sapped all the energy from him. He had just enough strength left to make sure he fell forward rather than back. He pulled himself over the rocky shore until the water no longer lapped up on his boots.

Law cursed his stupidity. He’d been with the Family long enough, rescued a stumbling Cora enough, to know what happened to Devil Fruit users in sea water. He should have remembered. And even if he hadn’t remembered that, he knew better than to jump into waist deep icy waters. He needed to get inland and start a fire. Before he could worry about figuring out his new abilities or curing the Amber Lead, he needed to get warm.

He braced himself with a breath and pushed up onto trembling legs. He mustered his energy to push the boat back out to sea. If things went as planned, Cora would come for him. If not… he didn’t want to leave an obvious trail for Doflamingo to follow.

He followed the shore for some time to further confuse the trail by avoiding making tracks in the snow. He continued that way until he found a copse of trees. The snow wasn’t quite as deep under the pines and it would give him cover for a short time. He walked to the middle of the pines before he collapsed against one of the trunks. He got dry clothes from his pack and tossed the wet ones aside after he’d changed. It was tempting to gather wood and make a fire now, hope that he would be safe there until Cora came, but he knew better. That wasn’t why he’d stopped anyway.

He remembered his parents spending long days and night puzzling out medical problems. If he could figure out what the Op-Op was capable of, he might be able to do what they’d never gotten a chance to. So he would think things through the way they would have— he would take what facts he had and work from there, one step at a time.  He was lost now but he wouldn’t remain that way. 

First, he knew he had the power, he just needed to know how to draw it out. Second, he’d done it by accident on the ship. Third, it seemed to take the form of a sphere. That was a place to start. If he could visualize what he’d seen and what he’d felt, he might be able to do it again.

He held out his hand. He tried to recall every detail, no matter how miniscule, of what had happened earlier. There’d been the subtle, numbing tingle of it and a somewhat unnatural, antiseptic taste on the back of his tongue. It had an observable outer membrane that created a sphere around him. Within that sphere, he’d felt a sense of control. He’d felt as though he was not only aware of every hair on his head, every cell in his body, but that he could manipulate it all if he wanted. If that was true, he really could be free of the curse born into his blood.

There! A whirling blue ball appeared in the center of his palm. If he concentrated on it, he could make it bigger. Soon it was the size of his fist, his head, and then his entire body. He pressed the edges of it until it surrounded him and the bases of the trees around him. As before, there was a sense that he could manipulate anything around him. There was certainly a temptation to grab hold of the lead in his flesh and rip it out but, on consideration, he decided the trees would make better test subjects.

He looked at the trunk closest in front of him. He flicked his wrist in an attempt to uproot it. The portion inside the sphere shuddered but, ultimately, remained in place. He tried again with more force behind his gesture but found the same results. He stopped to consider further. Perhaps a tree was too large for him to manipulate or perhaps the problem lay in the fact that he only had a portion of the plant under his control. Maybe a mixture of the two. Whatever the case, the focus of his next trial would be something smaller.

After a quick glance at his surroundings, he settled on a fallen branch. He moved his hand upward and the branch followed. It made circuits through the air, lifted by nothing but his will. He was about to see if he could move two different objects, when his strength abandoned him all at once. The blue sphere shrank back to nothing as exhaustion fell on him like a blanket. He slumped into the snow beneath it. He could do absolutely nothing but watch the thin rise and fall of his chest.

Not the result he’d hoped for but it was still progress. He’d learned that there was a price to pay for his powers. The strongest barrier of what he could do was his own limited stamina. That was something he could work on but he had next to no energy these days and it would stay that way until he’d extracted all the lead from his system.

What he wouldn’t give for a frog to dissect with his new powers. Any animal would do, really, but that was the one he’d practiced on most in the past and so would make the best starting point. He didn’t have a frog though. He also didn’t have time to go hunting for a suitable replacement.

Law bit his lip and held up a hand. He didn’t have the time to do this right. He needed to act. Maybe not on a hand, however. As a surgeon those were the most important tools he had. He eyed his booted feet. He’d rather not lose any limbs, if he could help it, but he needed a part of him that he could easily look at. He pulled out his left boot, carefully placed it aside, and then did the same with his sock. The biting cold against his bare skin made him wince. 

Easier than before, he summoned up the blue sphere. He had a moment to muse that he needed a better name for it as he expanded it just enough to envelop his foot. It felt like it used less energy the smaller it was. He needed to find a balance between the energy it took to sustain the bubble and the energy it took to do things within it.

He grabbed the knife he’d taken from the boat and held it with shaking hands against his ankle. He wished he had a scalpel. Likely he didn’t need anything at all, given he’d been able to manipulate a stick without so much as touching it, but the weight of a tool in his hands felt reassuring. Cora had said this wasn’t magic so he would treat it like any other medical procedure. This knife would be his scalpel and the space he controlled, his operating room.

He sucked in a breath and cut downward. His whole body tensed in reaction to what he knew was about to happen and he flinched despite himself. When he forced his eyes open and saw his foot disconnected from his leg, a wave of dizziness washed over him. He wasn’t the squeamish sort. Any last scrap of him that might have been had disappeared while he hid amongst dead bodies to survive. That didn’t mean that he was prepared to see himself chopped to bits.

After a few steadying breaths, he realized something. It wasn’t bleeding. It also didn’t hurt. He’d written off the initial lack of pain as shock but surely it should hurt? All it felt was cold. That’s when he noticed he could not only still feel what it felt but could move his toes if he tried.  Despite the crudeness of the knife, the cuts were remarkably clean as well. He’d still feel better with better tools on hand but it seemed, if needed, he could operate with whatever was on hand.

“Fascinating.”

He aimed the knife at his foot again and sliced a few more times. His foot fell to the ground in four neat pieces. There was a sort of numb tingle along the cuts but otherwise no sensation to speak of along the incisions. He picked up one of the pieces of his foot and examined it. The tissue all seemed to be functioning as usual despite being about as far from usual as it could be. What was more, when he focused in, he could sense each of the component parts. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he could manipulate every capillary, tendon, and bone at will. Everything within this operating room was his to control. For the first time, he truly felt like he could be rid of the Amber Lead as he felt it sluggish in his veins.

A scream broke through the winter air and snapped Law back to the present. He froze in place as another followed and shouting came after that. Two— no— three voices disrupted the silence. The smart thing to do would be to stay still and hope that whoever they were, they didn’t come this way, but then he heard a call for help. One of the voices was begging the others to stop. He thought of his futile pleas to Vergo and his hand tightened around the knife. He wasn’t in a mood for bullies.

That meant it was time to see just how much power he actually had. He quickly and carefully realigned the disparate quarters of his foot and pressed them back together. They reconnected as though they’d never been cut at all. Any other time he would have been eager to experiment further but right now he had some skulls to crack.

He quickly reattached the foot and let his powers die away as he pulled on his sock and boot once more. He sheathed the knife at his belt and took off at a run toward the voices. He marvelled at the fact that just moments before his foot had been in pieces on the snow and now he was running as though that had all been a fever dream. It was a good distraction from the rage bubbling up inside him as the first voice was reduced to whimpers.

He could see now where the sounds were coming from. Two boys about his age were standing with bats in hand over a bloodied lump on the ground. It looked like a polar bear but it was wearing clothes. This close Law could hear the bear saying ‘sorry’ again and again, so it clearly wasn’t a normal bear. He remembered a story Cora had told him and his brain supplied the word— Mink. Here was a creature he’d never hoped to see and they were treating it like a monster.

Law could hear his teeth creak, he was grinding them so hard. “Leave him alone.”

The two boys looked up at him. The redhead spat on the ground at Law’s feet. “Why should we?”

“Yeah,” said the other, the one with a hat that said ‘penguin’ on the front. “What are you gonna do about it, kid?”

They both leaned down to talk to him, as though to emphasize how much taller they were than him. If that hadn’t worked for Cora, then it was hardly going to work for them. Law almost pitied them.

He dove forward quickly and punched the redhead in the gut so that he dropped his bat as he doubled over. He knocked the other off his feet with a low, sweeping kick. While they regained their bearings, Law summoned up his powers. The bubble of his Room, as he’d decided to call it, enveloped them all. He ran on pure instinct and gestured at the both of them. They lifted off their feet and then crashed into each other. He then tossed them into a snow bank. He was sorely tempted to use his knife, knowing they wouldn’t be seriously injured, but he could feel himself running out of energy. Until he knew if he could put them back together outside a Room, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble of a good scare.

He felt his knees wobble beneath him. He cancelled the Room before it stretched him too thin. Rather than wait to see if the pair of bullies got back up, Law walked up to the still cowering bear. The bear shrank even further into the snow. It looked up at him with small, dark eyes. He was almost cute.

Not that Law noticed such things. No, he was focused on the injuries the bear had sustained. He tried to approach to see if there was anything he could help with.

“I’m a doctor. Training to be one, anyway. I can help.”

It wasn’t exactly the full truth but he had been further expanding his medical knowledge while serving under Doflamingo. Besides, he figured it was probably more reassuring at the moment than saying he was a pirate. Or former pirate. Or whatever he was now that he’d pissed off his captain for good.

Not that it mattered. The bear put his paws on his head. “I’m sorry,” he whined.

Law huffed. He ran a hand over his face and took the opportunity to gather his fraying patience and energy. He wasn’t in the mood to coddle. “You didn’t do anything. Now come on. I can help you.”

The bear peered out from behind one paw. “You made them float.”

“Yeah?”

“And you threw them.”

Law crossed his arms and glared at the two dark lumps in the snow. “Well they were hurting you weren’t they? I can just stop helping, if you want.”

The trounced boys groaned. However they planned on reacting to their thorough beating, they’d be up soon. Law nodded at them to indicate as much. When the bear did nothing to react, he shrugged and started to walk away. A paw wrapped around his wrist.

“Actually, um, uh… sir?”

Law snorted at that. “Law.”

“I’m, uh, Bepo. Not that you asked. Sorry.”

Law pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt dizzy. He needed to get somewhere to rest. Soon. It looked like two hobbling teenage boys had other ideas. They’d picked themselves up out of the snow and were coming toward him.

“Hey you,” penguin hat said.

Law put a hand on his knife and turned back to Bepo. “Come on.”

“Wait.”

The redhead. Law could hear footsteps getting closer. He spun around, knife in hand. “Don’t try it.”

Penguin hat put up his hands. “That’s not—”

Law readied for another fight. His body had other ideas. The corners of his vision had gone fuzzy and his stomach flipped over on itself. He could see the boys mouthing something at him. Logically he knew they were speaking but he couldn’t hear a word. It didn’t matter. He could beat these fools even if he was only half conscious.

Another step toward them, knife raised, and everything went black.

[into-the-stratosphere]

Champagne Morale

Arthur x Forger Fem Reader

Summary: Going undercover at a charity ball hosted by one of the richest men in the country was hard enough as it was, but Arthur was certain flying solo would draw more attention than he’d like. If only he knew someone who could act well under pressure and improvise at a moment’s notice... like a top-notch forger. He just hopes she’ll say yes last minute.

A/N: Found this absolutely gorgeous picture (I’m still trying to find credit for it 🥺) and thought the guy looked like Arthur and this came from it. Hope you enjoy!

Champagne Morale

Arthur x Forger Fem Reader

Warnings: None besides brief mentions of some drinking.

WC: 2309

Pre-Inception

This wasn’t exactly how she’d planned to spend her Saturday night.

(Y/N) was dressed to the nines in a gown worth more than all the rest of her wardrobe combined, surrounded by the city’s wealth feigning charity. The older couples stalked the ballroom floor in their finest, eyes catching on anything less than spectacular, staring her down, trying to determine which family she belonged to in order to deserve a place on the guest list. They were like vultures on the hunt, scanning for any sign of imperfection. The only comfort she found was her hand tucked into the crevice of Arthur’s arm, leading her from the prying eyes— her “date” for the evening.

He’d been frantic when he asked her to accompany him earlier in the week, barely letting her get her door open before he’d launched into his rehearsed speech; he’d only just found a way to squeeze his name onto the private guest list of their next target’s charity ball that he’d forgotten to account for the plus one attached to it.

“It would look more suspicious if I arrived alone, plus you’re an excellent forger, so we could better cover each other if we started drawing anyone’s attention.”

She leaned on the doorframe, a bemused smile spreading her lips as he continued to list why it would be mutually beneficial for her to accompany him. He could go on for hours and not list the same reason twice, she thought. Ever the vigilant point man. (Y/N) held up a hand, Arthur falling silent at the gesture, holding her gaze.

“If you wanted a date, all you had to do was ask, Arthur,” she said, throwing a wink his way before closing the door. The last thing she caught was his mouth gaping as he stammered, the tips of his ears hinting pink.

She bit her lip to keep the self-satisfied smile off her face from the memory, reveling at how she of all people could get Arthur to crack. Glancing around, she accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, sipping on it a moment before looking towards her companion. He looked dashing, really; his suit was trimmed to perfection, expertly accentuating his slim but fit figure. A black bowtie sat snugly at the base of his throat, albeit a bit off kilter. She stopped him a moment to straighten it, letting her fingers linger a beat on his lapels before smiling up at him. He grinned, a familiar half tilt of his lips before offering his arm to her again. The only thing he hadn’t changed was his hair: slicked back, his signature.

As they paced around the edge of the room, (Y/N)’s eyes darted from face to face. “Which one is he exactly?” She whispered from behind her champagne glass.

Arthur minutely jutted his chin towards a man standing near the temporary stage, surrounded by laughing millionaires. Whether what he had said had actually been funny was only consequence; anything the surrounding gnats could do to earn his favour, they wouldn’t question.

(Y/N)’s eyes fixed on the man over the rim of her glass, studying his mannerisms. He was at least mid fifties, wearing a mild suit that, while designer, didn’t quite suit his loud voice. He slapped the man next to him on the back with a laugh, the poor recipient buckling under his heavy hand. She tilted her head, watching the target hand his plate off to the staggering lackey. Though he grinned at his boss, she could see the pressure building on him as the night went on. There’s the right hand man.

She turned to Arthur, handing him her nearly drained champagne glass, “Darling, would you mind holding this for me a moment? I’ll be right back.” Before he could protest, she was halfway across the room, bee lining for their target.

He pressed his lips together, watching as she slipped into the inner circle of groupies with ease, throwing her head back with laughter at whatever their target had just said. His jaw clenched at the sight of the man turning his attention her way, bringing her hand to his lips in greeting. He gestured around the room, and Arthur swore he felt a blood vessel pop as the man put a hand to the small of (Y/N)’s back, showing her around the stations he’d had arranged for the ball.

He tried distracting himself, finishing what was left in (Y/N)’s champagne glass as he made a mental note to grab her another before she returned. A passing waiter took the empty flute from his hands, leaving Arthur to shove his hands in his pockets, gripping his loaded die with white knuckles as he turned away from the pair now meandering by the reflection pool, a posse of millionaires trailing slowly after them.

As long as she’s having fun. If he clasped his die any tighter it would surely shatter.

Arthur wasn’t left to his sulking for long; (Y/N)’s laughter drifted by his ear a few minutes later, and he turned his head to see his target walking her to where he leant against the wall. The man eyed Arthur up and down, standing straighter before pressing a final kiss to (Y/N)’s knuckles. She looked up at the host through her lashes, a coy smile gracing her features that made Arthur’s heart pang.

I’m not… no, I couldn’t be jealous.

(Y/N) was his friend, had been for years. Are we really only friends though? All his memories with her flashed through his mind in an instant, flushed cheeks and tentative touches. As he watched her bid their host a far too fond farewell, his pulse raced. Is that all we are?

She grinned until the target finally turned away from the pair, letting the disgust fall over her features when she knew his gaze was elsewhere. “I swear to God if he touched me one more time I was going to vomit.”

Arthur could barely restrain his laughter, the target shooting him a glare that he didn’t care to cower from. He wrapped one arm around (Y/N)’s midsection, rubbing soothing circles into the exposed skin as she brooded.

“Am I allowed to spend time with my date now?”

“Come on, you know I did that for the intel. Plus I can learn so many new characters from those snobby wannabes.”

“I’m sure you did.”

He grinned as she threw a weak punch into his chest, minding how she just as quickly drew back into his hold. The little green monster was sated for now. In fact, it certainly didn’t mind when she asked him for a dance, to get the feeling of his hands on me out of my mind, dragging him to the middle of the room where they blended in with the swarm of couples roused by the band.

He took her hand, his other falling to her waist, swaying quickly to the jazzy tune, watching laughter, genuine laughter bubble up her throat. Arthur dipped (Y/N) low, breathless by the way her hair fell from its intricate styling. He grinned at her, pulling her back into his chest, their breaths mingling as the tempo picked up again. For a song, they weren’t two con artists studying a target, two friends pretending to be dates— they were a complementary pair, dancing the night away oblivious to the pompous splendor surrounding them. Anyone who looked at them could tell the chemistry they shared— even the jealous host watching from the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest.

When the song ended, their chests heaving from exertion, all the room applauded the quintet situated on the temporary stage, bowing to their audience before starting up their next melody. (Y/N) and Arthur drifted away from the dance floor, locking arms as they sought the cool air blowing over the reflection pool.

They strolled around as they talked, glancing over the small tables of finger foods scattered on their way, careful to keep a good deal of distance from the man of the hour who hadn’t stopped shooting Arthur venomous looks since their dance ended. (Y/N) was pointing out a tray full of exotic caviar worth as much food that could feed an entire household for months when Arthur noticed the security on the edge of the room, eyeing the pair with wary expressions.

He watched from his peripheral as one stepped up behind the host on the stage, preparing himself for his speech to thank all the wealthy donors in the room as the band was packing away their instruments. He stalled as the guard whispered in his ear, his gaze latching onto the pair once more with a newfound suspicion.

Arthur cleared his throat, turning (Y/N) away from the stage with a hand on her arm, looking out over the calm waters. “We may have to leave soon.”

Her eyes snapped up to his, masking her surprise with a pleasant expression. He could tell she was listening into the conversations around them, trying to key in to how long they had.

The security detail became more mobile across the room, moving towards the exits of the venue. Arthur swore under his breath, slowing their pace to be equally spaced from the nearest guards. “We’re going to need a diversion.”

“Already on it.”

Arthur didn’t need to question her plan, feeling her weight drop onto his side as she giggled airily— playing drunk, he realized. An older woman nearby scoffed under her breath, something about minding how much one should drink in public, and Arthur shot her an apologetic smile, draping one of (Y/N)’s arms around his shoulders to better support her. One of her heels caught around the hem of her dress, (Y/N) kicking it away in a mock drunken huff, pressing further against Arthur’s body. Were he not so hyper aware of the extra guards appearing from the exits, he would have taken just a second to appreciate the sensation of her warmth bleeding into him, filling his chest until he felt he could float without a dream.

He tilted his head down next to her ear, “Alright, we’re going to need a better distraction to get out of here— maybe a prior engagement we forgot about that we need to get to right away—“

Arthur didn’t need to finish the rest of his plan as (Y/N) deftly swiped a leg from under him, teetering over to the side—

Where the reflection pool lay waiting to catch them.

Gasps shot through the crowd to see the tipsy couple splash into the water, rushing to the pool’s edge to watch the chaos. While the host hastened to the microphone to call for attention and order, the feedback making all the guests cringe under the volume, under the surface Arthur shook his head incredulously at (Y/N), who only shot him a cheeky wink.

The two emerged, beautiful clothes ruined, gasping for air. A handful of guards reached for their hands, pulling them from the water as some waiters went off to fetch some towels. (Y/N) shivered, clinging to Arthur’s arm as she sobbed, apologizing for ruining such a lovely evening meant for charity.

Arthur had to keep from rolling his eyes at the theatrics. Expert forger indeed, there wasn’t a single face without a pitiful turn of the lip, (Y/N)’s performance tugging at her audience’s hearts. If he didn’t know her, he was sure she’d even get a reaction out of him.

She shivered in his arms, stumbling to her feet as her gown clung to her legs. She sniffled, her mascara dripping down her face— whether from the water still dripping from her hair or her expertly crafted tears no one could tell. As a waitress passed along some warm towels, Arthur thanked her and began to move towards the exit, catching the glimmer of mischief in (Y/N)’s eye as they finally passed through the crowd.

As the wealthy elites finally drew back towards the host on the stage, Arthur risked a whisper to his date, “Certainly not what I had in mind, but you definitely got the job done. You know, if you wanted our date to be over, you could have just asked, (Y/N).”

Arthur could only glimpse (Y/N)’s bemused face as she realized what he said before she pushed him towards the pool again, but not before he caught her wrist and dragged her back in with him.

The host sighed on stage to see the happy couple go under once more, smothering the jealousy at having lost quite a catch.

Before (Y/N) could begin to swim for the surface, Arthur pulled her face towards his, grinning as her lips met his eagerly, bubbles dancing around their bodies as they floated a moment, too caught up in one another to care for air or what waited for them when they’d resurface once more.

They finally broke apart, pulling one another to the surface to greedily drink in lungfuls of oxygen. The only crowd to greet them this time was the waitstaff informing them they would have to leave. The two ducked their heads in apology, rushing out the door before anyone else would think to stop them.

When they burst onto the street in front of the lavish venue, wrapped in one another in a desperate attempt to keep warm, (Y/N) turned to Arthur, teeth chattering, “You know, I think I’d prefer we stayed dry on our next date.”

No, she certainly didn’t expect to spend her Saturday night drenched to the bone with a man who’s kisses tasted like champagne and confessions, but she definitely didn’t regret it either.

[dawn-aethwyn]

Crimson Sunshine

[Trigger Warning: Self Harm / Mental Instability]

Process. Nijah needed time alone to process. It made sense. She dumped a lot on her at once. Things she kept to herself all the time from everyone else. It was a lot of heavy stuff, things that would make people think twice before befriending her. So, a reaction like this, taking time to process feelings and thoughts-- this was understandable, right? But then why did it hurt so much? Was she being childish again? She brought her hand up to stare as she rested her head along the back of the porcelain tub.

It was fear that gripped her heart. That harrowing sensation that she might lose the one person who was her source of empathy and relief. Her solid rock to lean on and find balance. The person who helped her regardless of her pain, self-pity, and sadness. Nijah had always been there to offer a guiding hand. Not one that coddled, but one that was there to help her walk on her own two feet again, hovering just far enough away to catch her if she fell. She was always there to offer an objective standpoint or practical solutions to her own perceived problems.

Perhaps it was because of this absence of objectivity or practicality that Dawn felt lost and her mind wandered to more insensible thoughts. The water in the half-filled tub had grown tepid and her exposed flesh felt cold to the touch. She held the tip of the thin blade to her forearm and hesitated. Would this count as another secret? Would this make her lie more? Would this be something she’d have to keep from Nijah? If it never came up, would it ever be an issue? But, what if she found out? What if she needed more space to herself, more time to process things?

What if she processed and realized that she no longer wanted to be around her?

A light moan and a shaky breath escaped her delicate lips as she raked the razor along her flesh. In that precise moment she hadn’t mired herself in what-ifs. It was just the feeling. The physical searing that took away from the pain in her chest. If she was going to hurt herself with a myriad of thoughts that ranged from abandonment and heartbreak, wasn’t this the lesser of two evils? Small lacerations were clean and easy to heal with a bit of conjury, after all. At least she rationalized it that way in her head. But it was just that, wasn’t it? A simple excuse.

Justifications, reasons, excuses, none of those really mattered as she made her second cut; blood from the first trailed down her arm as drips sounded in the water. She didn’t need to worry about the why’s or torment herself mentally anymore. This feeling gave her a distraction. Was this foolish? Was it reckless? She didn’t need to worry herself over the details; what mattered was that the piercing feeling in her chest felt lessened as she cut into her flesh.

‘Weak.’

Harsh judgement came from the voice echoing in her skull. Weak? Of course she was. That’s why she was there in the tub in the first place. She felt the voice slowly creeping in some more and opted to drown it out with another slow and methodical incision.

The voice wouldn’t relent as the soul crystal around her neck began to burn red hot. Her veins nearest the stone darkened and red strands started spreading beneath the flesh-- her flesh felt on fire while the fine branching blood vessels underneath her pale, near translucent skin began to form crimson lines resembling the intricate webbing of a spider or perhaps the splintering of glass that had shattered but retained its form. She dropped the razor and her hands gripped white-knuckle tight on the edges of the tub as her form writhed.

‘If all you want is pain, I can give you that.’

How long had it been since she had been forcibly absorbing the dark aether from the soul crystal? Weeks? Months? The woman it had belonged to, the woman whose voice it was that spoke to her now, had led a sinister life and wielded a grim power reminiscent of those harnessed by Dark Knights; the crystal, of course, was from a long line of those avengers who embraced their emotions to call upon the abyss. They did this to exact vengeance, cold, harsh, and mercilessly upon those that they deemed deserving. These dark deeds and acts find their way to carve themselves upon a person’s soul no matter how well-intentioned. The scars from these acts were carved along with the memories and aether stored in the stone- pieces of their souls; and instead of learning from their whispers and memories, she had been absorbing them.

The most prominent of which was the soul of the woman who was slain in agony by Nijah herself: Adala Himaa. Now Dawn’s soul was entwined with hers and their fates tied together. Whatever remnants that remained of Adala were becoming a part of Dawn. She did her best to keep this change at bay but it would slip out-- in a physical altercation here, a life threatening situation there, a heated work conversation, an argument laden with emotion: anger that seethed from within.

Just when she had found some sense of normalcy in her life everything seemed to work against her.

Some sense of normalcy…

“Nijah!” her eyes shot open and she grabbed the stone, pulling it off her neck and away from her chest. The vessels along her chest began to return back to their natural state and she was able to catch her breath from the searing pain.

‘Oh? Found some inspiration did we? To escape from the pain? I thought you wanted to stop thinking about that?’

“I know! I know I’m weak. Okay?!” she shouted at no one. “Can’t you see that?! Why I’m doing this?! Don’t you know that I know?!” her reddened eyes swelled as tears escaped them. She brought her hands to cover her face and sobbed pathetically.

‘Causing yourself pain, mutilating yourself, that accomplishes nothing. Are you going to sit in your bathtub and do this every time your feelings are hurt or when you want to numb the pain? Or when you’re finally so numb that you do it to feel something? Is that it? Grow up. Face the pain.'

“But it isn’t going away if I don’t do this!” she pleaded.

“And it won’t go away if you keep doing this. You have to face the difficult things. The things that hurt you, the things that you’re afraid to lose, the things you’ve lost. It won’t be over quickly, it never is.”

“It’s not just about how I feel! I-- I d-deserve to…”

‘Oh please spare me the wailing. You feel guilty so you deserve it, right? Penance, as it were? So is it that or that you want the pain to go away. Make up your mind. Weak. Pathetic. Foolish.’

“I told you. I already know that I am!”

‘Then stop. Being. That. Way.’

Dawn sneered and rasped out, “You make it sound like it’s so easy, like I can just flip a switch and things will be all rainbows and butterflies!”

‘Does it have to be one or the other? Suffering or contentment? Not everything is so black and white. Not everything is so absolute. Look at you, it’s either one extreme or the other, mn? There are plenty of shades of gray. And in those shades is where you find truth. Pain is a part of life, and you have to learn to live with it and grow with it.’

“I’ve lived with pain. I’ve known pain. I’ve known suffe-”

Her rebuttal was interrupted by a singular thought from the familiar voice.

‘What would she think of you right now?-- Oh? Cat got your tongue? Go on, tell me about how you’ve learned to live with pain. Look at yourself right now and then say that you’ve learned to live with the pain.’

Her voice was weak and she seemed as if all the strength had been sapped from her as she sank into the water tainted with her own lifeblood, “It’s not the same. When mother died, I learned to live again. When father sailed away, I learned to live again. When I lost my eyes, I learned to live again. I don’t want to learn to live again…”

‘Oh, boo-hoo, is it too hard? Or is it that you can’t anymore without her? Hah. The thought hurts you so. Appropriate. At least you can feel some anguish with me since your loving murderess was the one who killed me. Sounds less like love and more like an obsession to me.’

“And? So what? What if I’m obsessed with someone that I love?”

‘Obsession can kill you.’

“So can love.”

[purkinje-effect]

Asking for Trouble

Cait gets a terrible first impression of Melancholy, my Sole.

This blurb has sat in my drafts for a few years now, and I decided to polish it up and finish the thought. Not sure if the encounter will be canon to Anatomy, but it’s here nonetheless. (For those curious to timeline placement, we’ll say this is roughly after the Park Street Station stuff in Fourth Instar, and sometime after his falling out with Mac.)

TWs: Heavy angst, injury and death, drug use and alcohol, explicit description of drug side effects, and violence-baiting.

Cross-posted on AO3 here if you’d rather. Likes, comments, kudos, etc. are all greatly, greatly appreciated.

_____________________________________

Someone at the Dugout Inn had mentioned this place. ‘Choly had come here with a vague recollection that the Combat Zone had once paraded skin. It only served to live up to its name now without any innuendo. Observing a little violence could be cathartic, too, and damn, if he couldn’t use some catharsis after his myriad missteps in Goodneighbor. All his life a spectator, vicarious in every regard.

He belonged here far before Goodneighbor or Diamond City, regardless of looking the part. Who could say a quavering, grey little man wearing a white three piece suit over head-to-toe leather orthotic braces didn’t fit right in among these earthly, physical misfits? He certainly couldn’t see any hackneyed political messes or territory wars erupting here: only people blowing off steam any way they could find it.

He couldn’t entirely say he minded that Angel’s compulsive cleaning habits almost always nettled the Hister Handy into picking up after social locations like this burlesque theater which now showcased cage fights. The possibility any of these raiders might hack it almost avoided him altogether, since he seemed like the only one with a Pip-Boy with which to do so. Such a worry would stick with him long-term after what he’d seen the Rust Devils do to Lowell.

His mind sang praises that Angel had allowed him to resume adding alkaloids to his meal replacement beverage, the Melancholia. Hubeine gave him negligible trouble compared to other options.

The fight unfolding before him was the billed spectacle for the night: for one hour, plus implicit encores, Cait would take down any body foolish enough to step foot into the cage to fistfight her unarmed. He swirled at some bourbon in a shot glass, from his bar seat to one side of the stage. His cataract eyes raised as he watched her continue through the athletic redhead’s performance. Somehow she managed restraint just shy of lethal blows, despite her precision and brute force. Any composure belied the depth of her murderous and bottomless rage. Glassy and lugubrious, he followed her bared teeth and retracted lips, her unblinking eyes, her adrenaline-wired and overworked musculature, her leaden instinctual footwork.

Despite having knocked out seven opponents in twenty minutes already, she wore more of their blood than they did.

In every mannerism, he recognized his enlisted in her. He stopped sipping at his liquor and threw the glass back, only to refill it.

Cait danced with the eighth opponent for about a minute before things escalated. The burly, hairy man pulled a switchblade on her, and managed to gouge her in the arm. In the physical sense, it didn’t faze her. In the mental sense, it had shattered the sanctity of her performance. She roared at him and lunged to sink her teeth into his face.

The crowd exploded. Her ghoul manager stepped in and attempted to stop the match-up, but he knew better than to get between her and the fool. She refused first aid, intent to fuck the guy up. The man kept his distance from her, knife still drawn, clutching at his gushing cheek. she voiced her displeasure to her manager, and he seemed to walk away and leave her again to her opponent... Only to bring her a baseball bat. A bloodied grin ripped across her face as she choked up on it like a familiar friend.

‘Choly smiled quaintly, head askew. The ghoul knew that the crowd demanded results--and more importantly, he knew that the crowd needed to see the consequences of forsaking what little honor they agreed upon in this dive.

She slugged him in the head. As he fell over, she proceeded to beat the shit out of him. The resultant din deafened much how ‘Choly might imagine Fenway Park during the World Series. Not that baseball had been his druthers. God, he wished that had been him on the receiving end. Between her hair, her leather corset, and the carnage, red was so very much her color. Head to toe, she was rage incarnate.

No one wanted to challenge her after that, especially not if they had to step around the bloody mess she’d splattered across the stage.

Time blurred a bit in ‘Choly’s shot glass. The next he looked up, he realized the champion sat beside him to drown herself in a fifth of vodka straight from the bottle. He straightened as coolly as he could, shifting to watch her. He adjusted his half-moon glasses, but could otherwise not obfuscate his alarm. He couldn’t leave alone the familiarity of the untethered ferocity with which she carried herself.

“Forgive me if this is forward of me, but I will get you any chems you want, if you will swear off cyclomorphine. The Psycho.”

“Bull shit,” came a potent Irish twang. She slammed down the bottle. Beneath the indignity in her glower, a tinge of fear felt more like the pressure of desperation. “You suggestin’ I couldn’t possibly fight as well as I do, weren’t I doped up? Your stupid mug hasn’t been here before. I’d remember. Who the hell do you think you are, to go around insultin’ the talent?”

His heart begged hot for her to retaliate. His gloved fingers tapped gingerly at the barely varnished countertop.

“I mean it. Name it. Med-X. Calmex. Anything but Psycho. I’ll even get dirty and brew you the most potent Jet you’ve ever had, if what you really need is escapism and not a low. CM isn’t a chem. It’s a death sentence. And... even if that’s the desired end result, that’s just about as gruesome and painful as it gets.”

She swiveled on the bar stool, resting both hands squarely on her spread knees. Her dead gaze bored through him.

“The fuck do you care so much about this wild theory of yours? You go around cold readin’ everybody’s vices tryin’ to hock your snake oil? Some salesman you are. You’ve got the Charisma of a Mirelurk egg that’s been in the sun.”

He raised his hands in defense, and then said what he meant sooner than meaning what he said.

“I’m not trying to sell you anything. I keep trying to offer solutions to the people I’ve hurt with my life choices, fix the damage rather than enterprise on it. Please let me get you chasing a different devil. Anything but that.”

“You’ve never met me in your life, and I don’t know your name or face from a Molerat in the floorboards. Don’t you try and bullshit me into believing you’re capable of fixing what ails me--and don’t you dare try to take credit for anyone that’s wronged me.”

“I’m the reason Psycho exists in the quantities it does in the Commonwealth. So yes, your pain IS my fault, at least part--”

His jaw seared. ‘Choly found himself sprawled in the floor. He felt around for his glasses, and as they returned to his face, he smiled up at her imploringly from where she stood over him. She cracked her knuckles sourly.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense. Tryin’ t’say I’m the one’s got a chem problem. What color is the sky for you? Forget you.”

Her hard exterior began to show signs of crumblign, in a series of stifled tics, most noticeably a corner of her mouth and the same ear. He could only begin to speculate to what exactly it was she’d taken exception, but he had to keep her attention, hold her contempt. Charm had never come naturally to him, so instead he had to sound the part of insisting at all costs that he was right.

“--Fine, you don’t want to quit. That’s a choice, too. I’ll make however much Psycho you want. You want to go out like that, I can help you with that. But I want you to know just exactly what that death looks like. Abscessed injection sites. Your gums and cuticles bleed. Your tear ducts bleed. It weakens all your capillaries, the tiniest blood vessels in your body. Internal bleeding. Organ deterioration. The numbness doesn’t turn off the pain--it only makes it so you don’t care. Is the anger easier than the hurt? If that’s how you want to go out, I’m not in any position to question it. But you might as well have an expert supplying you with it.”

Rather than help him up, she bore a heel down on his right hand. With an anxious chuckle, he winced, but welcomed being pinned in place. She glared down at him, seething. She didn’t want to hear another word from him, but she had to. Something about him surely sounded more deranged than intoxicated, and it threatened to haunt her.

“Do you know why cyclomorphine exists?” he continued, breath stuttering all the while. “Do you know what it is? Of course not. It was a prewar chemical--I can’t even comfortably endear it a chem--that the military developed so its soldiers no longer felt injury or fatigue. They endeavored to engineer soldiers who wouldn’t quit when hurt, even fatally. And it was only one of a dozen projects of its kind, to exploit the different aspects of human limits. Nothing human came from refining Psycho. It destroys something fundamental to a sense of humanity. The perfect formula didn’t concern itself with whether the patient came back in one piece, or alive at all. The Deenwood Project wasn’t poetic, wasn’t artistic, didn’t make a single beautiful thing. The fact that CM fell into paramilitary use after my tenure ended with the Army... and the fact it now as a result flows freely throughout the country as holdovers from... from the police attempting to keep the peace through intense and consistent violence... The fact is, I’m one of the chemists responsible for cyclomorphine’s end product. Responsible for it being one of the devices of America’s victory at Anchorage... So yes, yes I am. Responsible for what ails you. You’re civilian collateral of the United States Army.”

Her posture shifted slowly from anger to bitterness. She ground her heel into his palm. He pretended the token of her grief got through the reinforced officer’s glove.

“It’s not my place to question the source of your pain, and it’s not my place to insist that I be the one to take it away. I simply know that no matter how great the pain you’re in... Psycho dissolves parts of you, every time you use it to numb you. It begins physically, then advances to spiritually. It robs you of who you are.”

“That’s just the thing. I can’t handle bein’ me. This is the only part I’m fit to play. Besides, Tommy only cares if his juggernaut brings in the caps. I’m beholden to a contract. And the way I see it, you’re tryin’ to come between a man and his money, pokin’ around where your nose doesn’t belong! You’re lucky we’re out here and not in the cage, creep. Either I’m paid to beat your arse, or you’re askin’ to get blackballed.”

He sighed dreamily up at her, almost regretting that she let up on his hand. She drew her fists when his hand went to the lining pocket of his vest, but he chuckled producing a sack of caps.

“I thought you’d never ask. I admire one who rests their agency in someone else’s hands--or pockets, as it were. Surely, this is to the tune of you doing the honors. Add a black eye to the busted jaw. Tack on whatever you like. Ladies’ choice.”

She snatched the sack from him, frowning incredulously.

“What kind of sick flirting game is this? You tryin’ to buy me into bed? I know I’m easy on the eyes, but this isn’t a brothel these days, in case your damaged brain can’t tell the difference.”

He knew he wouldn’t be getting back the sack, but at least he’d tricked her into accepting some fleck of reparations from him.

“How many caps would it take to break your contract? To get you out of here?”

A broken sarcastic laugh crackled out of her. He’d long since surpassed overstepping, having moved on to stepping on toes.

“You’re insane if you think I’d ever want to leave the Combat Zone, especially not on the arm of the likes of you. I’ve got everything I could want here--except right now, not a place without you. You’re the one who needs to lay off the chems. Get your stupid brain-damaged arse out of here before I ask Tommy what I can do with you.”

He whistled for Angel, then retrieved his cane to stand.

“I suppose if you won’t let me help you, obliging you is the least I can do.”

With his Handy by his side, the two left without further question.

On his walk back to Hotel Rexford, he accepted that he’d probably never know the answer, but still he wondered if he had the same or opposite trouble as Cait: Were the two chasing a perpetual numbness, or were they chasing the futility of trying to feel anything again, at any cost?

[sagasofazeria]

Old Wounds

Song of the Seven Suns, Part 5

Summary: The gang arrives in Koretion, and they find things look to be more personal than they’d seemed for a few members. They gather information on their foes and prepare to confront the slavers.

Taglist (just ask to be added/removed!): @hellishhin @talesfromaurea @thelaughingstag

content warnings: discussion of slavery, discussion of death, discussion of childhood trauma, swearing, violence, murder, death, blood

word count: ~ 4200

The clouds were gathering again that morning, a looming promise of storms to come. As the first light of dawn peeked through the gray sky, Faulkron was sitting next to the remains of the fire, staring into the ashes.

He was awake first, a benefit of being elvish and not having to sleep, even though he often preferred to. Along with his keen senses and the fact that he rarely had to drink water, since his body stored it in a special set of vein-like vessels (which he’d freaked out about finding at age 7), made him quite the efficient adventurer.

The fact that sometimes his eyes glowed in the dark, or his blood gave off a faint blue light, was sometimes less helpful.

He looked around the camp at his companions’ sleeping forms. As he scanned around, he remembered what Elikon had told him. “No one does this just for fun. We’ve all got our issues...”

Fuego, who, fiery and rambunctious as he was, seemed almost scared when they’d told him to be careful of his fire.

Jetra, who had approached Faulkron and 2 other random mercenaries out of the blue one day, then ‘found’ a job the very next.

Shakari, an arcane warrior from a desert across the continent. Why was she here, in this place? Why did she care?

Finally, he turned to Alejandro. They’d met, hit it off, had a wonderful night. Faulkron was scared to expect any more, but a guy could dream. Then suddenly, he decides to go with him on a week long journey for a bounty? Not to mention whatever was up with last night. Out of all of them, Alejandro had to be the most mysterious to Faulkron, and he could admit he liked it. Even now, as he was sleeping, Alejandro seemed tense, restless.

Faulkron had no idea what any of these people were here for, but he couldn’t help wanting to know.

He looked down at his sheathed blade, lying on the soft dirt next to him. Even he was here for a reason, wasn’t he? Who were these people to him? Allies? Stepping stones? He thought he was here for money, but there was no legacy to be had with heavy pockets and no glory. So was he here for glory? He thought so.

The truth, the truth Faulkron was too scared to acknowledge, was that he didn’t know why he was here.

He stared for a long while at that sword.

Eventually, the gray of the fading night turned to brilliant blue, as the morning’s light spread across the landscape.

As the rest of the group roused from sleep, Faulkron began to gather his things, sharpening his sword and donning his armor, still quiet in his thoughts.

That day, tensions were higher, and the morning more quiet. They were all wary of another attack, and thinking ahead to their arrival.

By midday, the clouds had grown thicker still, but the rain hadn’t come yet. The road had grown wider and looked better traveled, but it was oddly empty, considering how close they were to town.

Before long, Fuego called out from his scouting position on a tree branch a little ways ahead.

“Hey! We’re here!”

They all sped up their pace, following where Fuego was until they too could see the town of Koretion up ahead.

It was a smaller mining town, carved into the side of the large natural pit that served as its stone quarry. The hills rose up, looming and rocky, all around. The huts and houses were made of carved stone, and most of the inhabitants were busy at work, from what the group could see.

Something was off, however. Rows of sharpened wooden spikes were shoved in the ground near the borders of the forest where the terrain dipped downward into the rocky center of the quarry, and the road was blocked by a large wooden barricade.

As Faulkron peered through the gaps in the sloppily built barricade, he could see that behind it stood 4 terrified-looking people. Two dwarves and two humans, armed with crude spears and repurposed pickaxes.

“Hey! Stop there! Wh—“ the dwarf who had spoken up coughed loudly and suddenly, speckles of red blood dribbling into their curly black beard, as the group saw them clutch a bandaged wound on their side.

As the other two steadied the dwarf, the third guard stepped forward, brandishing her spear. “Who are you? Why’ve you come? You’re not with them, are you?”

The five companions shared a few looks as Faulkron raised his hands. “We come in peace. We heard about your problem, we’d like to help.”

“Ha! You think we haven’t heard that one before? I’d bet my best goat—“ the dwarf interjected again.

The other militia woman cut her off. “Indroma, enough. You’re still hurt, you should really see a healer. If they’re here to help they’re here to help. If they’re not... well... we’re fucked, I guess.”

Faulkron looked to the rest of the group and shrugged. He wasn’t sure what was going on but it wasn’t getting them anywhere.

Jetra walked up next to Faulkron, her lyre in hand. “I can help with your wound, Indroma, if you let us through.”

No voice responded.

“As a way to prove we’re not with the bandits?” Jetra continued.

There was a bit of hushed arguing, but the barricade’s door opened regardless.

As they made their way past, Jetra approached the dwarf. Indroma sat down against the wooden fortifications, breathing heavily, still clutching a deep and partially infected sword wound. Jetra kneeled next to her, slowly unwrapping the bloody bandages.

As she placed her hand against the wound, she slowly exhaled, closing her eyes and whispering soft words that lingered in the air, motes of magical energy dancing around the two for a brief moment before disappearing. As Jetra stood back, Indroma’s wound had a fading light around it, and was now just a faint scar.

Indroma stared at Jetra in shock. “I don’t know what to say... thank you.”

Jetra only smiled. “Least I could do. If you don’t mind my asking, where did you get this?”

“Killin’ some of those damn slavers. One of ‘em got me good, but I don’t die that easy. Thanks again for helping me fight another day.”

“My pleasure.”

Jetra stood back up and rejoined the group. Faulkron looked around at the rest of the guards. “Is that enough to prove we’re here to kill the bandits?”

The guards looked at each other for a moment, but they all nodded silently.

“Thank you.”

With that, the five began to traverse the rocky side of the quarry down into the town.

•••

As they walked down the path, Jetra could see the militia members eyeing them warily. She wouldn’t expect any less, but it would draw a lot of attention. She wouldn’t be surprised if these slavers had lookouts on the inside, and she was willing to bet they’d single out their group rather quickly.

“Okay guys, here’s the plan. Keep a low profile and find us a place to rest, I’ll go find my contact and get more information.”

The others nodded, pulling up what hoods they had. They all huddled together and tried to look inconspicuous, making their way through the town once again. As they walked away, Fuego gave a thumbs up and a grin before blending in and disappearing entirely. At least he’d be fine. She was more worried about the 6 foot elf and the shiny sapphire dragonborn.

Jetra looked on and sighed. It wasn’t doing much, but she supposed it would be fine for now. She just needed to meet up with the captain of the guard, her dad’s old friend, Horakes. Then they could go after those slavers and free this town.

She’d been here once before, as a kid. She remembered being fascinated with all the patterns within the rocks, and how she kept asking the rocks what their paintings were about. Her dad had just laughed. Jetra sighed. She missed that smile.

But now, Koretion was far drearier. The people shuffled about, hands worn and ribs showing from hard work and long weeks at the mercy of the bandits who haunted the hills.

Jetra shook her head. Now wasn’t the time for nostalgia. Clearing her head as the sky darkened, she continued on, and before long found a large stone structure near the top of the quarry’s side. On top, a single wooden ballista sat dormant next to stacks of metal bolts. As Jetra approached the building, she was stopped by 2 more militia members.

Before they spoke, she waved them aside. “Don’t bother, boys. I’m here to see Horakes about your slaver problem.”

The militia men looked at each other for a moment in confusion, but she was already past them into the building, pushing open the door.

Inside, she could see various weapons, mostly spears and modified mining tools, but a few more finely made daggers and shortswords were scattered amongst them. There were stairs that led up to the top of the building, where the ballista was, and various cots on which wounded and sleeping militia members and townsfolk lay. Beyond a doorway covered by a ragged curtain, she could see a large table and the boots of an armored warrior, who she could assume was Horakes.

After drawing her eyes away from the wounded people, she pushed aside the curtain into the next chamber. On the table was a map of the area, and leaning over it was a graying dwarf with weathered skin and broad shoulders.

Without looking up, he grunted and called out, “Who is it?”

Jetra only smiled and said, “A friend of a friend.”

Horakes’ brows raised in surprise, and he smiled, turning to her. “Ah, you’re here! It’s been a while, Jetra.”

“That it has, that it has,” she replied, kneeling to hug him.

She gave a quick squeeze, and then Horakes pulled away. “I got your message, your timing was extraordinary.”

“Well, I do my best. I brought some friends, by the way. I think we’re ready to do this.”

Horakes looked her over. “Are you sure? I mean, I hate to remind you, but... this is the woman that killed your father, from everything we know.”

“I understand that, Horakes. That’s the whole point. I’ve been waiting to take this bitch out for years. Like I said, I’m ready,” Jetra said, trying her best not to look terrified. Somehow, hearing Horakes, stern, confident, Horakes, ask if she was ready was scarier than just her suspicions.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, kid. Now, what do you need to know?”

•••

Meanwhile, Faulkron and the others managed to find rooms without drawing too much suspicion. The Bedrock & Breakfast was a small inn & tavern they’d found was near the bottom of the quarry, just off the main road into the town.The barkeep was a smiling dark-skinned human woman, with brightly colored tattoos all the way up her left arm. The stump of her right arm was wrapped in a silvery cloth. When they came in, she greeted them without asking questions, and no one gave them any second glances in the quiet lantern light. Once they had all settled in, they met in the central room to wait for Jetra.

As they all sat, Alejandro’s jaw was tense, and he was drumming his fingers on the table, practically staring holes through the wood. He barely ate what food they had purchased, and didn’t speak except for the occasional phrase.

Fuego, in contrast, was practically buzzing in his seat, and ate everything Alejandro didn’t and then some.

Before the clear clashing of mood could become too awkward, Jetra entered the inn. She quickly made her way over to the table, grabbing her map out of her pack and a cup of wine from the barkeep and setting them on the table.

“Alright, I talked to the captain of the guard, here’s what he knew. First things first, the slavers are a remnant group of the—”

“—Mortal Chains,” Alejandro interrupted.

Everyone paused, and Faulkron raised a curious eyebrow, not recognizing the name. “Who are the Mortal Chains?”

“They’re... a terrible group of slavers and marauders. I’ve had experiences with them before.”

Jetra looked a bit taken aback, but she nodded. “Yeah... yeah. They’re ruthless. They were scattered about a decade ago, but remnants remain, and this is obviously one of them.”

Fuego leaned back, stroking his chin in thought. “Okay, how do we get rid of them?”

“Well, they figure they’re somewhere up in these hills. Based on the scouts who have actually come back, they’re set up somewhere in this area, but since we don’t know the exact location we’ll have to search it all. We can assume they’ve set up defenses, considering how well they’ve hidden themselves. The woman leading this group is cunning and devious, and these people aren’t your average brigands,” Jetra said, a clear venom to her voice as she noted the area on the map.

Shakari looked at the map a moment, then tilted her head, one scaly brow raised with an easy curiosity that was betrayed by the intensity of her eyes. “Jetra, you spoke like you know this woman.”

Jetra looked back at Shakari for what seemed like a moment too long, before looking back to the table, expression guarded. “I know of her. She’s dangerous.”

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Dymea. She has a reputation for her willingness to use any means necessary for her own ends, regardless of how dishonorable or underhanded it may be. And, seeing as her ends are usually murder and slavery, she’s a pretty nasty deal.”

Shakari nodded in understanding, turning back to the others. “I see. Should we head there, then?”

“No. We wait until morning,” Faulkron interjected. “If we go now we’ll be caught in the storm, and they’ll have the cover of darkness. They’ll want to attack during the night, that’s when they have the advantage. If we attack at the break of dawn, they’ll likely mostly be asleep, and we can surprise them,” Faulkron explained.

Alejandro’s brow furrowed. “And what if they attack between now and then? Why stall and put all of these people in danger?”

Faulkron locked eyes with him. “If we wait, we have the best chance of victory.”

“This is a badly defended frontier town that is entirely on the low ground. Are you sure we have the advantage?” Alejandro pressed, voice low.

“If it eases your mind, Alejandro, let’s just say they didn’t have us before. We shredded those bandits on the road. We can join the militia on watch if you want, but I’m certain we should wait. Bandits don’t really do sieges. Why would they? They’re milking all the resources they need from the town as it is.”

Alejandro sighed and shook his head. “You do not know these people like I do, Faulkron. They haven’t only been stealing objects, remember?”

Clenching his fist, he begrudgingly continued, “But, I will admit, we stand a far better chance together than apart, regardless of when the fighting starts. We wait until dawn, then.”

With that, Alejandro finished his drink, and stood up. “Now if you excuse me, I’m going to get some air and see how I can help the militia until night. I’ll be back by dusk.” Alejandro looked once around the tavern, then walked out.

As Faulkron sat back and grabbed his drink again, Fuego took his leave as well, pulling up his hood and ducking out into the storm-darkened streets.

Shakari followed not long after, stepping out of the inn with a nod.

When they had left, Jetra sat down next to Faulkron with her own drink. They sat in silence for a while, but eventually Jetra took a long drink and grimaced before turning to Faulkron.

“Are you sure about this plan? Alejandro is right, the Mortal Chains are dangerous. And he said he speaks from experience, gods only know what that entails.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Jetra finished her wine. “Very well. Take some time, have a drink. I’m going to go help out in what ways I can, maybe play some music to cheer up the townsfolk, and see to those that need healing.”

“Hey, that magic you did was pretty cool, by the way.”

“Well, magic is amazing. There’s lots of things you can do with a bit of imagination,” she winked, and walked out as well.

He didn’t realize until a little later than he probably should’ve that he’d suddenly sprouted a blue illusory beard.

•••

Fuego found it pretty easy to lay low among the crowds of miners and townsfolk. A benefit he hadn’t expected when he left Zul’Zagan for the mainland was how easy it would be to hide among all the big people.

He had seen earlier a figure watching them from the corner of the inn, and suspected nothing of it. Probably just some person who was real quiet and thought they were weird. Honestly, he would’ve agreed. They were all pretty weird. All these people were very quiet. Except the bard. Fuego loved her, she was great.

However, when Alejandro left, he noticed the suspicious person follow, and decided he should tail them, just in case they were a plant of some sort.

Now, as the rain began to drizzle down from the clouds and the afternoon sun was fully obscured by a curtain of storm, he was sneaking along the rocky walls of the quarry, following the figure as they followed Alejandro.

As he was sneaking along, he leaped across to another stone roof, accidentally sending some loose stones tumbling off. When they splashed into the mud, the stalker stopped walking suddenly, and Fuego froze.

The stalker turned towards the roof, but saw nothing, and continued on.

Flattened as much as he could against the roof, Fuego let out a breath. He kept his focus on the spell, remembering the unnatural fog that constantly surrounded his home, and his magic hid him seamlessly against the backdrop of the roof.

Now invisible, Fuego’s eye was trained on the stalker, and he followed them until they reached the area houses furthest from the mines. The muddy paths here were empty of life, and Fuego felt the onset of an uneasiness, one that had his skin tingling and his hair raising, even hidden as he was.

Before he could begin to back out, however, he realized that he couldn’t see Alejandro anymore, and it appeared neither could the stalker. Fuego started scanning the area, but he couldn’t see any sign of his friend from the roof. He began to wonder if he’d been ambushed, and drew his sword, which steamed and hissed as the rain fell onto the heated blade.

Down below, the stalker began to cautiously walk forward, drawing a pair of curving serrated daggers from within their cloak. Fuego felt a small rush of excitement that he had been right, but quickly refocused.

He watched as they walked forward, and he began to think that they looked far too much like an insect waiting to be crushed for this to be an ambush.

Or at least, for it to be an ambush for Alejandro.

As he began to realize what had happened, he saw the cloaked person suddenly get yanked into a small muddy alley between two stone huts and disappear from view.

Adrenaline kicking in, Fuego leaped over a nearby hut and looked into the alley, sword and magic at the ready. As he looked on, he could see Alejandro with one of his swords at the stalker’s throat.

“Hola, motherfucker. Surprised?” he growled, pressing the blade closer.

The stalker, a tanned elven man with a shaved head, only grinned.

“It seems I underestimated you,” the man hummed.

“It’ll be the last mistake you make.”

As Alejandro finished his sentence, he hissed with pain, as one of the elf’s blades sank into his side. His grip loosened just enough that the stalker was able to knock away the sword and start sprinting back down the alley.

He only got a few steps before Alejandro’s greaves slammed against his shins, and his legs were swept from under him. He went tumbling into the mud, limbs sprawled.

The elf grabbed at his daggers, clumsily swinging towards Alejandro, who parried them away before brandishing his swords and bringing them down towards the man. Even as the stalker tried to roll away, the blades slashed across his back and sent him falling into the mud once again. The mud was soaked through with blood, and the man cried out in pain.

Rolling onto his back, he kicked Alejandro firmly in the chest, knocking him off balance. Scrambling back to his feet, he held his daggers aloft again, breathing heavy.

“You can’t stop us. Our chains have already wound around Koretion. There’s nothing you can do.”

Alejandro laughed through a grimace of pain.“Oh really? I can kill your sorry ass.”

At that, he leaped forward with his swords.

Their blades clashed, and Alejandro spun behind him, holding his blade once more to the man’s throat. He grunted, holding the man still.

“Déjà vu?”

The elf chuckled. “Not for me, it seems. For you. I saw your brand. You-”

Before he could continue, Alejandro slashed his blade across the man’s throat, and he collapsed to the ground in a pool of blood. As Alejandro stood over him, bloodied and breathing hard, the bandit slowly stopped moving, face still contorted in a half smile.

Alejandro stared down at the corpse and spit on it. “You will not steal any more people away from their lives.”

Fuego let the fog fade from his mind and dropped from the roofs into the alleyway. “What was that?”

Alejandro quickly put his blades up again at the sudden noise, but lowered them seeing Fuego.

“Oh. It’s you. It was nothing, just... he was following me. One of the slavers, sneaky bastard,” he said, kicking the corpse over to reveal all the extra daggers and chains beneath the cloak.

“I mean, I wouldn’t call that nothing. A lot happened there.”

“Wait. How much did you see?”

“The whole thing. I was following the guy since the inn, thought he was acting weird.”

“Ah.”

“Did you know him or something?”

“Not personally, until now. Like I said, I have experience with this group.”

There was a bit of a pause. “Now, I don’t know about you, I’d like to get this treated, so let’s go?” Alejandro said, putting a hand over his wound.

“Right, yes, you’ve been stabbed, we should get you to a healer. Good thing we know one...” Fuego quickly agreed, leading the way out of the alley.

•••

Shakari was meditating beneath a large tree, on top of one of the larger hills that surrounded the town. They’d climbed their way up here in the rain, claws slipping and scraping on the wet stone and muddy hillside.

Now, they were meditating. Their breathing was slow, and the rainwater flowed across and between their scales, trails of water weaving like a tapestry across their body.

There they sat for a while, taking in the view and the clean air, letting the water wash away the sense of uneasiness they carried, the weight they felt, even if only for a moment. After a deep breath, they began to speak out into the storm.

“Brothers, though I am not with you, I am not far. May the dry skies give way to rain and bring you peace, life, and plenty, even if only for a day. I miss you all...” She let the sentence trail off, finishing her prayer in her mind. Her tribe was far away, but she still felt the weight of her exile with every breath.

A few more minutes of meditation, and then she came back down the hill, reflection over and her current task at the forefront of her mind.

•••

That evening, they all gathered at the tavern, Alejandro’s wound now just another scar among many, thanks to Jetra. There was another quiet toast to kicking ass, and then they left the central room to get some early sleep.

Faulkron didn’t need the early sleep like his companions, and so for what time he had to himself, he patrolled the streets, hood up as he walked among the shadows.

What Alejandro had said earlier had sat at the back of his mind, simmering just under the surface. He felt a responsibility now, weighing on his shoulders, and that hadn’t gotten any better when Alejandro was stabbed. He was sure he wasn’t responsible, but there was still a small seed of doubt and guilt that had started to sprout in his mind.

So he walked the streets, eyes flicking over every corner and shadow, unable to rest until he could be satisfied that he hadn’t made a grievous mistake.

The pattering of the rain was the only sound, and the light of the moons and stars was obscured by the heavy clouds. It was almost peaceful, in the stillness of the night, but the threat of storm and slavers haunted the darkness like an ever-present ghost.

Part 4 | Part 6

[wanderingmirror]

They kept him chained down within his own mind. The mask of being human always causing his anger to spike. Dean hid his rage behind smiles and attitude. But when Sam chose a demon over him, the room they had been in turned into an even greater mess. Archangels, Angels, and demons across the world could feel the wave of dark and golden grace. Ruby shivered and whimpered silently to herself while away from Sam.

Dean felt the rage overflow, he could not control himself as he searched for his human brother. Words are the nicest thing he could have with the She-demon.

———————————————————————

When Lilith was slain, her blood opening the cage, Dean entered the room, a dark look in his eyes. Sam felt fear spike in his chest when he saw the darkened look coming from his brother’s eyes. The moment Ruby was in sight, the words died in Dean’s throat at what the She-demon manipulated his Sammy into doing. Ruby, fortunately for her, was only stabbed with the knife Dean had taken with him. Dean letting out a vicious roar as he did so. Sam shivered and the beings in the area did the same. As Lucifer came up from the cage he felt the vengeful, dark grace push against his own. He yelled and his wings fluttered. Dean looked over to the fallen angel, his eyes glowing a pure white.

“Abbas?” He said softly and moved closer to the human who should not have grace coming from his form. Dean twitched and felt the signs of a black out coming for him. Sam’s eyes widened when Dean’s rolled into the back of his head. Lucifer lounged for the elder Winchester as he collapsed, but he only caught air as both brothers vanished. Sam was the only one awake to see the old church get destroyed. Dean unconscious.

———————————————————————

When the two brothers returned to Bobby’s, Dean fled into the panic room. Locking himself in and screaming in agony and rage. A long locked away secret clawing to get loose. To find their anchor. “LUCIFER! MICHEAL!” Dean screamed in Enochian. “GABRIEL!” His voice shaking the house entirely. The names of his brothers and his anchor sending shivers through Sam and Bobby’s spines. “Bobby what’s going on?!” Sam shouted as Dean’s wails got louder and louder. Bobby shrugged in terrified confusion. He scurried with the younger Winchester when the screams, worryingly, stopped. They found Dean laying limp on the wall farthest from the door. All of the Archangels shivered when the screams stopped.

Lucifer curled within the vessel he inhabited. “I hear you brother. I hear you.” He whispered with his grace nudging against the darkened grace surrounding his in a bond made long ago. His eyes sealed shut and his body shivering.

———————————————————————

Sam and Bobby dug deep into the books and lore to figure out who Lucifer had called Dean, since the eldest Winchester refused to come out of the panic room to do so. “Castiel, can you come down here? We need your help.” Sam prayed and got an answer through the book before him being flipped and a page being turned to. Faded, but still legible. Abbas, Archangel of Judgement. Three pairs of wings, bronze, gold, and white. Dirty blonde hair and eyes the same as Dean’s.

Dean’s wails started up again. He wanted to be freed. He wanted to spread his wings, to reap judgement past due. His grace wanted to wrap around the grace of his anchor, to feel it cool and calm his own. And after four days of this cycle of quiet then chaos. Dean left the panic room in a daze. He leaned against the door frame as he walked to his and Sam’s shared room. Laying down and passing out. “Dean?” Sam asked softly when he woke to find Dean curled around him later on. Arms wrapped protectively and legs tangled with his. Dean just pulled the younger closer and encouraged him to sleep too.

———————————————————————

The chase to find and reseal Lucifer was long. Castiel and the other angels tense and nervous around Dean when they were needed. Dean was quiet, hands itching to touch the remains of grace from his anchor only to find him long gone. Bond eerily quiet and cold. When they found Gabriel, the archangel froze. Eyes locking on Dean when he brushed his grace against that of Gabriel’s. The amber eyed male tearing up. He was then pulled into the arms of his big brother. Sobbing and pushing his grace into Dean’s, seeking comfort he hasn’t had in millions of centuries. Though the elder Winchester was surprised at first, he still soothed the other with his own. “You’re awake! I heard you! But they wouldn’t let me find you!”

Dean soothed Gabriel with soft words. Leaving Sam confused, bitch face in full swing. “De, start talking. Now.” Sam demanded as he crossed his arms. Dean gently nudging Gabriel into his side to rest. The three had sat down after Gabriel was finished checking Dean over. Dean was reluctant to talk about his angelic history. It being far to sore a subject that even Bobby was strictly in the dark. “If I had it my way, Sammy, I wouldn’t tell you shit.” Dean grumbled. He rubbed Gabriel’s back, between wings in severe need of grooming, as he thought how best to talk to Sam. “Well, I’d like to know how long this Abbas asshole has been with you. So, start from there.” Dean wanted to laugh. Sammy thought that Abbas was someone else entirely. When in reality, he and the archangel of judgment were one and the same.

“Sammy, here’s what you don’t seem to get. I am Abbas. Abbas is me. I’m, how you say, in my own personal prison. I never wanted to be human.” Dean said with no small amount of irritation. “Before, and even after the rebellion, I got a little too twitchy for the old man’s liking. So he and Death decided to seal what they didn’t like away. What better way to deal with an Archangel who just lost the one thing keeping them sane.” Dean’s mouth twitched in a humorless smile for a moment. Gabriel shivered when the short haired male decided to groom messy wings. Though Sam could not out right see the wings, Dean could.

It was common that Dean, while still with his brethren, would check the wings of fledglings and even the archangels. Grooming them like a mother hen. The others realized long ago that it reassured Dean they were still there. As many had disappeared suddenly over time. “That doesn’t explain everything. You damn well know that.” Sam stated and Dean did laugh then. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. They bound me in a human form, many human forms actually. Gotta move with the times right? I constantly had to grow back up. Lived with different human parents.” Dean shrugged at the horrified expression on Sam’s face.

“Then I was born in the Winchester household. As Dean Winchester. Eldest brother to you. I couldn’t access my grace back then. To save Mary. She was actually a mother I wanted to grow up with. To make proud.” Dean sighed with grief. “But, seems Azazel had other plans. And I got raised differently. Well, I didn’t get raised. I raised you and grew up being a parent instead of a child. Didn’t mind since I’d had children in my past lives.” Dean smiled fondly at those memories. Gabriel purring in his lap.

The other archangel had moved to nuzzle under his brother’s neck. Laying chest to chest to give Dean better access to his wings. Dean sat the feathers on the floor next to the couch after they either fell or were pulled. Sam found it both very cute and oddly enough didn’t seem bothered that the smaller archangel was curled like a cat against his brother. But then again, he had seen weirder. Dean grumbled when he found things within the wings, muttering about washing them later.

Dean felt his own wings flutter at the thought of bathing. His own grace shivering in quiet excitement that did nothing to pull Gabriel from his sleep. Dean poked the bond connecting him to his anchor, scowling when he found the bond was still icy and silent. “Who’s your bond with, Dean?” Sam asked after Dean gently kissed the side of Gabriel’s head. The smaller angel nuzzling subconsciously. “Lucifer. I did mention that I was going insane after his fall, ya know.” Dean arched a brow when Sam choked on his own spit at the declaration. Sam looked at Dean like he had two heads after that. Watching as the elder Winchester picked the archangel up and started for what he assumed was the bathroom.

Sam didn’t follow. Something Dean was grateful for, as he wasn’t keen on letting the giant of a man see his baby brother naked. To Dean, it’s like looking at your children. He raised the younger angels and Archangels after they were created. And once Lucifer and Micheal were old enough they helped him raised the others. Dean snorted while getting the water warm. Gabriel was always with Lucifer, both having tricks and pranks to dish out. Never against Dean though, as he could do much worse than them.

Micheal learned fighting styles and other more warrior like things from Dean. Always copying the elder Archangel, Dean pretending he didn’t see the boy as he trained beside him. Rafael was raised into books, and much to his delight, Dean always had stories to tell or books to help him learn. While he did have their father’s wisdom and knowledge, it was Dean who helped him channel it. As time went on, Dean and Lucifer fell for the other. The elder of the two seemingly calming down from his more destructive habits. Much to the annoyance of their Aunt Amara. Dean snorted again as he sat Gabriel in the bath, his wings spread out over the edges so Dean could reach them. Dean hummed softly, it sounded like a far away church organ. Gabriel purred as he woke up, blinking sleepily as he caught Dean humming in his more angelic voice.

“You still sound beautiful, big bro.” He said softly, earning a chuckle as he shuttered his eyes. Dean kept humming. While he was by no means a choir angel, he still could sing. Baritone was his most used tone. It rumbled deep in his chest and caused the fledglings and younger angels to giggle. It also calmed down the Seraphs after a day of battle. Gabriel made a small sound of relief when he felt the debris leave his wings under the spray. He hadn’t paid much attention to his wings after Abbas was sealed away and Lucifer was cast out of heaven. “And you wonder where the youngling Choir angels got it from.” Gabriel teased and made a large exhale as his oil glands were cleared. Dean snorted at the memory of having little choir angels trying to sing with him. They couldn’t keep a tune for long but they got better with time and patience. Patience, the angel race found, was ever present for them alone.

Dean scowled a bit, remembering how he got twitchy after their father created the humans. Lucifer had the mark containing Aunt Amara at the time. So the twitchy attitude Dean had at the time was thought to be understandable. It wasn’t until Lucifer snapped that Abbas felt the tugs to cast judgment upon the humans. He even felt the urge from Lucifer from time to time to do it. Though the younger archangel tried to hide it from him. Their father realized that Abbas wasn’t handling the new creations as well as he did with the angels. Lucifer being cast down was only the icing on the cake after that. Since the Archangel had no way of keeping a calm and rational mental state.

So much like Aunt Amara, Abbas was sealed in a different type of cage. “You’re brooding again.” Gabriel mumbled sleepily, getting wing massages and bathes were lulling the youngest Archangel to deep sleep again. Dean smiled softly as he emptied the tub, pulled Gabriel into a warm towel, and dried the man off. He walked to Gabriel’s room and found warm fluffy clothes to wrap his brother in. Along with boxers, Dean clothed his brother and put him to bed. “You really do have the mindset of a mom.” Sam snickered, quietly laughing when Dean turned a half hearted glare onto him. “Well when you have nothing else to do but be a parent to your younger siblings, it tends to stick.” Dean responded with no heat, Sam still felt a little guilty for not trying harder to be a better brother. Dean huffed a breath, he twitched his wings as he walked. He couldn’t do anything more than twitch them, they were bound by holy leather to his back. All three sets.

———————————————————————

Dean rolled his neck and popped it, grunting softly. It would be a long time before he could rid himself from these straps. Since no one but his bonded, who was still missing, or Micheal, who he hasn’t seen in millennium, could cut them off. Dean had tried ridding himself of them, but all it did was tighten the straps to his back. The blonde felt a growl well up in his chest, felt his darkened grace lash out at forces that were no longer within his reach to feel. With his grace locked and his wings restrained, the calls to cast Judgment were few and far in between. Sam had gone to bed, Gabriel had remained asleep still. Dean didn’t feel the need to rest. He poked at the bond, quiet still, but warming up. Dean smiled softly in quiet relief that his anchor didn’t feel he had to block Dean from him. Even if it was only to give the sense of safe-alive-home that Dean really needed.

“I’ll find you, beloved. Neither Father nor Death will keep me from you.” Dean muttered with a steadfast promise. And somewhere in the world, Chuck shivered, knowing full well that Abbas would keep that promise.

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Elsewhere, Lucifer was in hell. Dealing with things that had gone down while he was away. Feeling the constant pokes and prods of his Archangel of Judgement. Abbas was worried, and a small bit of anger. Lucifer knew damn well why Abbas was angry. Being separated from his grace, from his wings, from their brothers, and from Lucifer himself. Abbas was twitchy even before they were separated. Lucifer gave Abbas a small bit of reassurance, and felt the anger and worry ease into something he was sure Abbas could now manage. The darkened grace almost having a purr of its own now that Lucifer has acknowledged its owner. Lucifer can’t meet with Abbas now, in his mind Lucifer isn’t ready to see him again. But feeling his Archangel through the bond was enough to reassure him that Abbas still loved him.

As the demons around him moved, Lucifer allowed his wings to brush against the walls and the pillars of the throne room. None of the others understood what their lord was doing, nor did they need to. Lucifer stretched his wings, feeling the pops and cracks of disuse leave. With a sigh, Lucifer vanished to the surface to explore. Trying to get an idea of where his Archangel was. However, the shift in placement told Abbas where Lucifer was anyway. Lucifer was sure of that. It didn’t take much for Abbas to figure out where Lucifer was when the bond they had formed so long ago was so strong. But the younger Archangel knew that, without his wings the Archangel of Judgement could not fly to him. Something Lucifer was sure Abbas was roaring internally about.

“Do you think he’ll let me see him soon?” Lucifer looked at the sky without the need to turn around. Rafael was there behind him. “Don’t count on it, Elder brother.” Rafael said simply as he felt the warmth of Abbas’ grace flow over them both. While the archangels could only move their grace at Will to things nearest them, Abbas could reach across the world if he needed. Judgement is passed to everyone, not just a few. “I say the old man will. He can’t keep Abs away from his anchor forever.” Lucifer snarked. “Besides, he doesn’t want Abs to cast judgment on his favorite toys too soon, right?” He snickered when Rafael’s eyes went wide before the other vanished to tell their brother. “Don’t have to wait too long, Abs. I’ll find you before he has the chance to try and control you.” Lucifer muttered as he vanished back to Hell.

[missingartist]

Fated Destiny

anonymous asked:

Hi can i request geralt x reader soulmate unwilling to find each other, you can do whatever you want for the story. I know this sentence mean a lot in the tv show ''people linked by destiny will always find each other''

Rating Mature- You have been warned

People linked by destiny will always find each other

The words etched into your skin since your birth. It burnt at first, even after a lifetime you could still remember the searing, the burning, the begging for it to end. The priestess had told you that it meant your bond was strong, the strongest they had ever seen. That had not been very comforting in your heats, with no lover or soulmate to pull you through; those times were harrowing and hard. Still, the priestess had been proud of a Valkyrie to have a soulmate, the stuff of dreams you were told. It made you almost laugh; you were never a romantic, a realist if anything, the scowled you received at the hands of the High Priestess herself were legendary. So few Valkryie receive such an honour and those who kept them after were few and far between. The High Priestess would repeat time and time again that destiny would prevail. Even now, you could clearly recall the sound of her voice as she bared down at you from her throne in the temple. When you ascended from Swan Maiden to Valkyrie, she had been destroyed that you chose to stay at the temple as advisor and teacher.

Staying in Valhalla was practical, there were so few of them remaining that they need sturdy teachers, who else could teach the old ways, then who would carry the slaughtered through to the next world, guard the weak and vulnerable, help the unfortunate. There were times you regretted it; you were not above the idea of love and a family, only a soul bond could grant that for a Valkyrie to free of her duties and allow the gods to grant fertility. Yet, sacrifices had to be made, and you would never had made a good soulmate, too much of a reader, too bookish, too dull. Those were the taunts that were whispered behind your back, the jeers and isolation who received at the hand of your so-called friends in arms, the other swan-maidens. So you remained in the temple bound to your duty, honouring the dying and the fallen.

But in saying that, sometimes you would fantasise. He would be a fierce warrior, skilled in his craft, bathed in blood and at the same time kind with a loving smile and warm arms that would encircle you. Your dreams kept you company in the lonely nights in the library, and that was enough because you knew, no matter what the books said about soulmate, it was romanticised, no one could love another like that, not even your parents, too afraid of her daughters mark to keep her, so instead offer her to the Temple of the Valkyrie.

‘Y/N…’ A voice called you back into the present as your friend, and mentor Edda entered the vast library, gliding across the marble in her white silk dress. Elegant and poised as ever, she had ascended when she was nearing 40, but she was easily one of the most beautiful maidens in the temple, graceful and slim bodied.

‘We have been called to the throne room; it’s the High Priestess, she has called an emergency meeting.’

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‘Ahhhh Edda and Y/N so glad you could finally honour us with your presence.’ The High Priestess chirped, standing in the middle of the throne room.

Including you, 27 Valkyrie’s stood silently around the edge of the circular hall, some in temple dress of white silk and bright gold metal, hair twisted in place immaculately. Others, in armour, battle dress, plated metal and hardened leather, adorned with the finest steel swords and bows, glittered shield strapped to there backs. Both sides of the Valkyrie were so different. Light and dark. Life and death. Contrasting, but the different sides of the same coin.

‘My children…I fear our age is coming to an end. We have become less and less, humans kill us, haunt us when all we have done is serve them. Till we are the few that remain, if we perish then the Valkyrie is no more. I cannot allow this to happen. The humans have turned, just as they did with the Elfs. Kings mad with power deem themselves beyond us. Some have outlawed magic altogether, train witch hunters to track and kill all things magic. Our temple can stand no longer silent when our brother and sisters are tortured and burnt at the stake. Tissaia de Vries, Rectoress of Aretuza, has pleaded for our help and we can no longer linger at the side of the battlefield. We are Valkyries, shield maidens, defenders, and we do not hide. WE WILL fight. If any of you do not agree, go forth from my halls, I will hold no ill will. But daughters, I beseech you. Fight with me.’

Your eyes did not move from her, her golden hair shining in the light, creating a hallow around her as she moved. No one moved, no one breath till the High Priestess has a sharp nod and ascended the throne.

‘Men have forgotten what it is to be afraid. We will bring fear. Shall we begin?’ The voice of the High Priestess run out deadly across the room as you received your orders.

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With that you found yourself posted to the mortal lands, you still found yourself standing in awe as you past some wonder or another. Skellige had a savage beauty to it, dark greens and blues, mix with the earthy tones of browns and greys. The people for all their ferocious talk and gruff nature were warm and welcoming; few knew your true visage, but that didn’t seem to matter. They welcomed your help with open arms, clothed and feed you.

Your Pegasus, a pure white mare, its wings tucked secretly away at her side as she trotted merrily through the worn path. You had picked her personally from a litter, the runt; you had nursed it yourself, fed it day and night for weeks, will it was strong enough to train and since then you were inseparable. You had flown into battle with her, sprinted through meadows, guarded Kings with your faithful Pegasus at your side.

You had been travelling for days, across Skellige to reach here, the gates of Crach an Craite’s castle, Kaer Tolde. It stood tall and imposing above the sea and waves broke violently against the cliff wall. The stone was a dark grey, but vibrant green ivy climbed the stone, giving it an almost picturesque quality. You hated to admit it but coming to earth had made you realise how much you hate the pristine halls and celestial keeps, you like the imperfect, the grim and the grotesque. Nothing had to be perfect to be beautiful.

A tall, powerful man in traditional garb stood in the middle of the keep, a band of gold surrounded his head, making him almost King-like, a powerful Jarl to be sure.

‘Hail Virtuous Valkyrie, my home is yours for as long as you need.’ The Jarl stepped forward bowing nearly in respect.

‘I thank you, noble Jarl, but just Y/N is fine. My High Priestess thanks you for you tributes. I am at your service.’ You grinned as you stepped forward, clunch his forearm in a Northan handshake.

‘Ahhhhh you with your pretty words. Come I have had the maids prepare a room for you. There is someone I think you have been waiting a long time to meat ’ The jarl laughed as he gestured you into the castle.

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The room was comfy, autumn colours warmed the room, while a fire softly roared by the hearth. It was not as grand as the rooms at the Temple, but in its rustic charms, it felt more homely than any rooms you had ever slept it. You made your way, thought the larges corridors to the feasting hall, it wasn’t hard to figure out where you were going, just follow the noise of roaring cheers that reverberated across the castle. The hall was full of merry people, laughing and cheering, songs rude enough to make a sailor blush. It was outrageous, and you loved it. Weiving you way through the crowd you pitched a flagon from a pasting steward toward your host, who stood in conversation with a group of white-haired men and a woman.

‘Ahhhh Geralt, Vesemir, Ciri this is Y/N, the Valkyrie I have the honour of hosting’ Crach beamed as he hoisted his horn aloft draining the vessel in one gulp, droplets of mead, gathering in his beard.

‘Greetings fair warrior maiden, humble Witchers are ever given such an honour’ the oldest man, bowed, revealing two swords strapped to his back, ever ready it would seem.

‘I have never met a Valkyrie before, is it true you ride a flying horse?’ The women Ciri grinned across at you, amused.

A laugh formed in your belly and escaped from your lip before you could fight it back, ‘It is, mine is called Slugger, he often has to roll with the punches, if you want you could come on a ride. She loves to show off. But the honour is mine; Witcher’s are famed throughout the hall of the temple they are very coveted, I believe many of my sisters have a favourite Witcher they protect and guard against harm.’ You teased, taking a sip of the honeyed mead, savouring the taste on your tongue.

‘Hmmm,’ the last Witcher hummed but remained silent, looking boredly at the floor.

‘I never realised you all had different coloured irises.’ You beamed before turned your attention to the silent man's eyes; they were a stunning amber, flecks of gold run through them, along with burnt oranges and saffrons.’ You smiled ‘Your eyes are beautiful.’

The group smiles vanished, replaced by shocked stares. You blinked quickly, eyes snapping from Witcher to Witcher. You had never meant a Witcher before; it had never occurred to you that they may have some kind of etiquette to them. From the tales that spread across the temple, they fought hard and played harder, any coined they earnt was spent on wine and women, they didn’t seem the kind of people easily offended.

Pursuing your lips in a quick apology they stopped as the Witcher’s lips twitched into something resembling a strained smile, it looked neither happy or unhappy just impassive.

‘People linked by destiny will always find each other.’ The man grunted, his bulky form vibrating at the sound.

A shiver through her body and to her core at the sound of his gruff tone. Immediately, your hand flew to cover your forearm, where your mark was held, just above the artery to her heart, in fear that your gauntlet had come off. The gauntlet that had covered your arm the last 50 years, shielding the mark from the world and you. The man's eyes didn’t leave yours as your thoughts raced a thousand miles a minute. The feeling you felt were conflicted, guilt for not find him sooner, for finding him and shattering what he had already made of his life. Happiness at not being alone, soulmates were meant to compliment the other physically and mentally, to meld into one to create the most potent force, unstoppable. A magnetism pulled you to him, powerful and commanding.

‘By the gods…. I never thought you would hear your word Geralt. You have no idea how much shit I used to give him about those words. Beautiful eyes….huh this grumpy bastard.’ The drunken Jarl boomed.

The other Witchers laughed and raised their drink; however, the ashen haired women observed you curiously, through light green eyes, cat-like, only distracted when behind you a couple of warriors began to brawl causing a chain reaction. Within seconds the whole room erupted in chaos, beer and mead splashed against the walls, teeth spilt out across the floor and the sound of flesh against flesh cracked across the room. Blade where unsheathed and the clash of metal pierced the air. By the time Ciri’s eyes came back to find you, you were gone.

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The roar of the fight had long ago since died down and the roar of laughed was once again back. Your feet aimlessly wandered the castle for the last hour; you weren’t really sure where or what you were doing, the only thing you could hear was his voice repeating your words over and over, like honeyed silk in your head. You never thought he would be this attractive, tanned marble skin paired with white hair pinned back revealing chiselled features. His body was 6ft5 of honed muscle, and in his armour, he was more than impressive, no wonder he was a favourite among the Valkyrie’s.

‘You know I’m not going to let you leave. Not till you let me ride Slugger. I don’t think Geralt would either, but I think he has a rather different idea of riding.’ Ciri’s voice cut through the chilly night air.

The young women sat cross-legged on a bench at the end of the hall. You stood hesitantly lingering in the middle of the hall observing her; she was expressive and kind, her face told everything. It was a gorgeous face, but her eyes were the main feature, framed in thick charcoal, with a smoky eye effect.

‘I never believed it when Crach said a Valkyrie had Geralt words. Apparently, your High Priestess is important to get you bonded.  Had to see it myself, never thought you would be so cool. Is that really a G'valchir sword- I heard they penetrated anything.’

‘It is, and it does. I'll let you practice with it later…perhaps we can spare tomorrow morning.’ You smiled tightly, coming closer.

‘I don’t think Geralt going to be letting you leave that room anytime soon. Don’t worry Crach removed everyone from this wing. I don’t think he wanted a raging Witcher roaming the halls. It's going to fun having you to hang around with.’ Ciri giggled, hopping off the bench and out the window.

The world had lost all normality. This morning you where a wandering Valkyrie, burden with aiding an uneven war and now you were confused. It couldn't be real, just some surreal daydream, fueled by a bad reaction to mead, you just need to sleep and tomorrow would back to normal. Soulbond forgotten. Pushing your way into your room, you fell against the back of the door and let out a puff of breath, as you removed your breastplate and threw it onto the bed, rolling your neck, groaning as you felt the stratifying clicks and began to unbuttoning your undershirt. Only stopping when you saw a mans armour on the dresser.

‘I thought you were going to run away, though I was going to have to track you down….I am a little disappointed not to have a hunt. I think that would start my rut off.’

Geralt of Rivia was lounging on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire, shirt half-open, chest hair teasingly peaking out from a rock hard chest, just as tanned as his face. Why was he in your room?

‘What…What are you doing here? These are my rooms.’

‘Hmmm,’ The Witcher grunted.

You stood in silence for several more minutes, his eyes hungrily devouring you, his predator eyes taking in every inch of you, his head tilted to the side, giving you a beautiful view of his neck. Perfect to bite, to suck, to mark. You could feel a familiar tingle travel through her body; wetness pooled between your thighs as gazed down at him. You wanted to say something, anything, but every time you opened your mouth, no words would form.

Swallowing hard, you spoke. ‘What are you doing in my room.’

‘Our rooms. Crach had my things moved in while we were at the feast. Think he thought it was more…. convenient.’ The Witcher smirked as he raised himself up on one arm.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I stopped running. You can’t outrun destiny just because you’re terrified of it. I was coming for you. I have always been coming for you.’ Geralt purred, standing elegantly, his full height was impressive and intimidating, he crossed the room in two long strides.

You scrabbled across the bed and darted across to the fireplace. Now the light was to the back of you; his features were more prominent, highlighted by the flickering flames, that licked up the fireplace. Geralt’s shirt was now fully open, revealing the sheer power of his chest, perfectly toned by battles and training, the odd scar decorated his body. No wonder he was so converted, your sisters were going to be green with envy when they found out he was yours.

‘I…. We…You’

Before you mouth could catch up with your mind, you found yourself pin to the furs that laid across the floor in front of the blazing fire. The Witcher hovered over you, eyes searching your face, his large hands gripping your hips as the rest of his length held your body in place. Without hesitation, you curled your legs across his thighs and twisted, switching your position, your knees stretched to pin his hips to the floor, it was an easy advantage, from here you could place pressure on his weak point and for a brief moment escape. As you moved back, though the flimsiness of your riding pants you could fill his hardness pressing against your wet core. You had never felt anything close to this pleasure  from the briefest contact. You had tried to bring your self through the heats, the touches where only enough to stave off the pain for a short while, necessary but not pleasurable.

Biting your soft plush lip, you attempted to hold back a groan, as you moved again. Your grip loosened as you caught yourself gentle grinding against the Witcher. His hands slowly travelled up your thighs to rest on your round bottom, pushing his chest up and once against resting above her. You stared nervously up at him, all thoughts lost, he smelt like mint and spice, it overwhelms your senses. Geralt pulled back, peeling off his black undershirt and tossing it clear across the room. Your eyes following the masterpiece of his muscles as they moved. Tentatively, you let your hands brush across his skin with feathered touches, feeling his muscles tighten and relax under your fingertips.

‘I have never been with a man.’ Y/N gasped.

What sounded like a growl feel from his lips, as he kissed his way down your body ‘You are mine’ Kiss. ‘You are only ever gonna be mine’ Kiss. ‘ To kiss, to make love to, to fuck, suck,’ Kiss ‘to finger and touch’ Kiss ‘to tease and bring to the brink of ruination.’Kiss ‘Just like I am yours.’

The sight of the golden skin man between your legs was too much as sight to believe, his amber eyes pinned you to the plush fur as his rough fingers tore into the weak fabric of your cotton trousers. The sounds of ripping fabric were deafening and you couldn’t help but let a bright red blush as he caressed your features. No mortal man had ever seen you this bare, the only thing that covered you modestly was a pare of heeled riding boot and a half-opened shirt. Geralt made quick work of the boots, sliding them off your calf letting his fingers massage them and he removed them one by one, throwing them over his shoulder.

The Witcher shifted slowly pulling himself up your body; his eyes were dark with desire, he looked prima. The intensity of his look made you shift away, backwards, into the mound of pillows, the ashen haired man did not climb all the way up to you; instead his torso pinned your hips to the mattress, his strong hands shooting out to encircle your forearms pushing the down onto the bed, totally disabling any chance you had of escaping him. Geralt amber irises completely consumed black with lust eyes turned away from her a began to mouth any piece of skin he could, his hot tongue gliding across her flesh, teeth nipping and gnarling as he went. It was so gentle yet possessive; he groaned as he sucked the plump flesh of her stomach. Geralt nuzzled at you stomach before looking at her, directly into your eyes. You held his gaze, staring into the depths, of the emotion swirling in his honeyed orbs. Angry. Passion. Fear…Love. The outburst of raw emotion was unexpected; it made him look…vulnerable. Something you neer thought a Witcher to be.

Your lump pink lips parted to speak but instead he pulled hoarse cry from your throat instead. His free hand found your most sensitive area, your clit, swirling in the wetness that had already pooled between her legs. It was slow and playful as the tip of your finger mischievously teased your opening. It was a curious feeling, the need for something, anything was unfamiliar and terrifying, to yearn for something this badly. His middle finger sank down into your core. Bliss. It was a totally new sensation; a moan escaped your lips as his mouth suckling on your breast as his thumb teased your clit. Breathy moans escaped your mouth as he withdraw his finger almost entirely before plunging it back in, it was frantic, you felt raw with the to sensation it has made you slick and pliant to him, something he took complete advantage of. After a few more thrusts another finger curled within you, almost hitting the spot within you, the spot you knew he could feel. The stretch felt strange at; first; his fingers were large and thick, almost too much but still, you wanted more, something to build the burning arch that roared inside you. He shifted a little so he was on his side, still pinning you down with his body, angling his hand for better thrusts, his other hand still gripping your forearm, as your hand searched for anything to hold, something to ground you from the feeling bubbling under your skin. Finally, after what seemed like an age, her slender fingers found his muscly shoulders, she could feel his muscles flex beneath her fingertips as they dug into him.

‘Geralt!’ The tension in your stomach was close to breaking; you could feel it splintering at the force of his actions.

The Witcher rose on his knees taking in your flustered form, a panting mess beneath him. He shed his leather pants so quickly your eyes could not follow his movements. Now he was bare, a true warrior, all muscles and scars. You wanted to spend day upon days worships his body in the old ways, to guide him to the peak of divine pleasure but now his body caged you to the floor, as his black orbs swirled with lust.

His hard member rested heavily against you, thick and throbbing, he said nothing but slowly sank it deep into you with a swift and strong thrust. A feral groaned grunted through clenched teeth as his eyes fell closed, basking in the tight warmth that surrounded him. The pain was pierced through you; he was so thick you though he had split you in half, instinctively you tried to move away, to shift away from the dull pain but his hips kept you in place.

‘Breath…’ Geralt gritted out through clenched teeth. ‘Tell me to stop and I will’ The rough voice of the Witcher broke out in heavy puff, as he rested his forehead against you.

The pain subsided quickly to an ache, a need for you to move. Raising your hips, you felt Geralt shift, pulling back slightly and pushing back in, shallow thrusts hitting the sweetest spots. Wanton moans spurred Geralt, his hips picking up pace and force, withdrawing fully before slamming into you again.

A thin sheen of sweat covered your bodies, moans and grunts filled the room as the fire illuminated them, glancing down you watched with fascination as his cock pushed its way into her tight walls, it was the single most erotic thing you had ever seen. Geralt's thrusts became stronger and stronger, more iritic and with each movement inched you closer and closer to your release.

‘Geralt….’ Your eyes found his as you pleaded.

The Witcher shifted his weight on his elbow as he sank close, his cock grinding against your sweet spot, his free hand moving between your bodies to frantically play with your clit. His pace increased, desperate and needy as he chased their release. Your moans turned into screams as you felt the warmth fizzle in your stomach.

‘Yesssss, Gods, please….Geralt’ Your voice released a hoarse scream as your orgasm rolled through you. Above you, you felt his hips stutter into you, as his teeth bite down into you shoulder and his cock slammed into you once last time as he poured his seed into you.

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You awoke sometime later to find Geralt tracing the word on your arm, lazily. Contented eyes smiled up at you; his hair ruffled up in pleasant bed head.

‘Mmmmm this is nice’ you hummed and snuggled into him. ‘Things are going to get complicated now aren’t they.’ You sighed tucking you head onto his chest.

‘Hmmmmm’ Geralt grunted wrapping his arms around you, tightly.

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