#want the wind whipping through the trees and lightning splitting the sky

[lokidokeyartichoki]

I think a violent thunderstorm would fix me

[rotworld]

31: Dark and Stormy Night

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

he comes when the storm does, every bit as furiously, dangerously passionate. he leaves when it dissipates, but he dreams of the day you'll never have to be apart again.

->original work. explicit; contains mild/brief gore, ambiguous consent, manipulation, possessive/controlling behavior.

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You’re not home yet when the rain starts and that makes you nervous. Soft trickle to light percussion to hissing downpour, it carves space for itself in concrete dents and potholes, making rippling mirrors of the dark, lightning-threaded sky. You brought an umbrella but a trailing puddle still follows you down the store aisles like liquid shadow. His footsteps are waterlogged. Damp and heavy, like a shoe sinking into lake mud. You won’t see him if you look back but you’ll catch glimpses in the glass of the deli case when you pass by. Limp, sodden hair, stormy black. Eyes bright like lightning.

The cashier at the front tries to make conversation. You feel guilty about your curt, one-word answers and wandering gaze, trying to look busy and uninterested, but it’s for their own good. He’s right behind you. You feel his damp breath on your neck and the creeping sensation of fingers dragging down your back like cool, trickling water. He gets jealous easily. You paid someone too much attention at the bus stop once, an old work colleague who wanted to catch up, and static crackled startled to crackle on your skin. There was a moment of blinding brightness and flashing heat and smoke, singing, the sizzling stench of burned meat.

She was struck by lightning right in front of you. Not once, not twice, but five times. Dead before she even hit the ground. 

The ride home is excruciating. You watch the wind whip the trees and hear the thunder grow from a distant grumble to a deafening roar. Silvery threads of lightning baste through the clouds in split-second flashes. The seat next to yours is empty. People avoid it because it’s soaked through, rainwater dripping steadily to the floor. It doesn’t puddle where it falls or roll with the movement of the bus. It slides over to you, gathering beneath your feet.

He used to wait for you. You’d come home to find him standing outside, or see his palms pressed against your windows. Time and frustration have eroded his patience. Now he’s everywhere you are once the rain falls and the wind howls, a phantom only you can see. He follows you off the bus, a second set of footsteps splashing behind you. He hovers when you fumble with your keys, palms pressed on either side of you.

“Hurry,” he whispers. “I can’t have you for long.” 

Your lover is frantic when he finally has you all to himself. Here, behind closed doors, he becomes something you can touch. No longer a wisping, dripping thing, he is human or something like it, all the fury and beauty of a storm condensed into flesh and bone. He kisses you hungrily, touches you greedily, writhes against you with passion that has been building for weeks. Deft fingers undo buttons and zippers, stripping you of everything that keeps him from your bare skin.

“I’ve missed you,” he sighs against your mouth. His hands smooth up your body, palming your flesh with awe and desire. “I always miss you. I wish I could stay.” 

You don’t know what he is, where he comes from. You have so little time together and he doesn’t like to waste it on speaking. “I’m what the rain and thunder brings,” he told you once. He loves like the storms he follows, quick and furious and gone again too soon, touching you like he might never get the chance again. 

He wants the curtains drawn, the blinds open. Is he really here, you wonder, or is he out there looking in? He leaves the lights off, everything in darkness until lightning lances the night. The shadows in your room look like storm clouds, churning, streaming past. He wants you under him tonight, kissing down your stomach and spreading your legs apart with his hands. His mouth between your thighs makes you tremble in his grasp.

He doesn’t have the patience for foreplay. Gentle kisses become hungry nips and greedy, ravenous suckling against your sensitive flesh, his grip hard enough to bruise. Your heart flutters in anticipation when he climbs over you instead, slotting your hips together, a hand on his length to guide himself to your entrance. He likes that you enjoy this, that your back arches and your hips buck to accept him and his roughness, his abrasive need. His pace steals your breath.

Thunder rattles across the roof and shakes the windows as he fucks you into the mattress. Nothing he does is enough. He’s always hungrier, always needier. The closeness, chest to chest when he lays over you with your legs wrapped around his waist, doesn’t satisfy him. He ruts into you like he hopes the two of you will meld together and never have to part again, hard and deep and never stopping. Every off-beat, the brief withdraw before he slams into you again, is shorter than the last. He doesn’t want to leave the tight warmth of your body. He’d keep you here forever if he could, eternally enraptured and full of him. 

“Would you come with me?” he asks. A rare question, murmured between labored breaths and moans. “If you could, would you? If we never had to be apart?” 

He scares you. The intensity of his feelings leaves you feeling bruised all the way down to your heart. How else can a storm love than with this all-encompassing, drowning viciousness? He arches over you, presses your bodies together and pumps his hips even faster. The sound of flesh against flesh is loud but not as loud as the rumbling of the sky and the screaming wind. He wants forever. All of him, for all of time. You don’t mean to say yes but his excitement is infectious. His eagerness and unending appetite gets inside you like the rain fills the city’s empty spaces, how it leaves itself behind in puddles and dampness even when the wind stops blowing. 

“I have so much more to give you. Don’t you want that? All of me? Everything I am, just for you?”

You would say anything as long as it keeps him here, pinning you down with his hands and his body and his powerful thrusts. You whine when he withdraws just long enough to shove you onto your stomach, to drape himself along your back and push back inside. Your mind is empty but your body is full as he ruts and grinds into you, whispering temptations in your ear. He was lonely, so lonely, until he saw you. The waiting, the long dry spells in between, haunt him. All he can think about is coming back to you. Touching you. Tasting you. Feeling your body against his. He would stay forever if he could, and don’t you want that? His hands and his mouth and his cock pleasing you? Don’t you want even more? 

“Just one more step,” he moans. “One more. Come to me. One more step and we will never be apart.” His pace slows suddenly and you whimper, pushing back against him. But he’s waning, his movements losing their frantic passion. He thrusts weakly, his breathing soft. You can’t hear the thunder anymore, you realize, or the wind. Just rain in whispered droplets. Something cold lands on your face.

You look up into a gray sky. You stumble, your feet bare and cold and coated in mud. You’re not in bed anymore. You’re outside, catching yourself in the wet grass. You feel feverish and exhausted, your hot skin soothed by the last gasps of wind and gentle rain. Trees sway. Water rushes. You’re not home or anywhere near it. How did you get here? And when? You shiver. Your clothes are heavy with rain, sticking to your skin. You feel lightheaded. Your hands are stuck in cold, wet mud. Your heart skips a beat. 

There’s a river in front of you. Right in front of you. Swollen from the storm and fast-flowing, it could easily sweep you under and dash you against the rocks. If you’d gone even a step further, you would’ve fallen right in. One of your hands is pressed against the sloping back, tangled in grass. Down among the foam-capped ripples and surging waves, you see your frightened reflection staring back at you. 

And him, right behind you. Storm-haired and lightning-eyed, leering at you. From the water? Beneath it? From some other place, peering through? His gaze is cold and furious but you see him breathe deeply, bony shoulders rising and falling. An eager smile stretches across his face.

The next storm will be the worst one.

[robynroost]

Okay so I've done some write-ups for various fandoms in the past, and having been in the Stardew Valley for a little while now (I'm soo LATE to the game but I'm glad I get to experience it!) I thought why not a Shane fiction seeing as he is my absolute favourite character! Really be addicted to this man istg ;-; anyway, I'm not sure what write ups are like here, but I wanna share! Hope y'all like it! It's short and sweet, not great either, but I enjoyed writing it all the same ^^

The Long Walk Home

(Fic based on Shane's 8 heart event during the storm)

Pairing - Shane x Farmer (Female Y/n!)

Warnings - Mentions of sui*ide, depression, anxiety etc. Hospitals, alcoholism...

Description - After spending your evening speaking with Emily about your previous encounter with Shane at Marnie's ranch (previous heart event) an early storm roles in as you leave, taking the long walk back to your little farmhouse. It isn't until your foot bumps into something odd that you realise not everything is as it seems in Cindersap Forest...

Thunder rolled overhead. What had previously been predicted for the end of the Summer season had come early: a torrential downpour of fat, heavy luke-warm raindrops and the whip-cracking sound of clouds crashing into eachother at such an outstanding velocity that the sky tore in two with the claws of lightning bolts.

You had been perched upon a stool inside the cozy Stardrop Saloon of Pelican Town, head buried into your muddied arms with your right hand clutching onto a half-empty glass of water after a long day in the fields. Work hadn't intended to be so difficult, albeit the thought of what had happened the day previously had you wracking your brains with guilt and worry for the past several hours - even as you attempted to sleep.

"I'm sure Shane will be fine." Emily sat opposite you, her hand working a cloth inside one of the Saloon glasses as she continued, her expression attempting to be cheerful with a splash of hope, "I've known him ever since he moved here with little Jas. He's always been to himself, always here drinking..."

Your head snapped upright with a frown, "That's the point. He's always drinking, and he's always to himself..." You wavered your hand in a gesture that could only explain your worry further, "I mean- who has actually spent the time to ask him how he's really feeling?"

Emily replied with a shrug and a frown, "Nobody really gets much else out of him than the snarky replies, so nobody really bothers." She buried her hand deeper into the glass as she spoke, your eyes watching closely as the squeaking became louder,  "I do tend to get more of a friendlier conversation mind you, but that's about it, poor guy..."

"Guess I'm just worried about him is all, he does seem like a lovely person. I've spent enough time with him at the dock to see that." You murmured with a shrug.

Another splitting crash of thunder had the walls of the Saloon shake. You narrowed your eyes upward towards the celling as if you expected the entire thing to collapse under the sheer malice of such a storm. Emily too shared your concerned expression and took a step back, tipping her head a few times towards the door, "You best be off if you want to get home in one piece."

"Yeah too right," you agreed whilst scooping yourself up and fixing your boots into place, "Thanks for the chat though. I'll go see how Shane's doing tomorrow. Gonna be passing that way back home actually, I fancy a walk."

With a wave and a bow of farewell you were on your way, arms crossed to shield yourself from the debris that the wind had managed to strip from the trees as you made your way back through Cindersap Forest. The rain had practically flooded you by the time you'd taken five steps out of the Saloon, but you welcomed it. Summer had been unusually hot this year, and you and your crops needed the much needed water to moisten your dry skin.

Now with such dark, thick clouds overhead, you struggled to see a good few feet ahead of you, and the jet stream of rain didn't seem to help either.

Of course I forgot my flashlight... how could I possibly-

Clank!

That wasn't thunder...?

There it was again. That same clanking noise that sounded awfully familiar to "Beer cans...?"

There now resting cold and wet in your hand was an empty beer can after you had bent down to investigate. It had to be the same brand of alcohol as the cans you had seen in Shane's room yesterday. That's when a heavy gust of wind disturbed the forest floor and with that the sound of various other cans echoed down the pathway leading towards the edge of the forest, close to the cliffside.

Curiosity always got the better of you, you'd admit, but this was a different sort. It was anxiety bubbling away in your stomach, a knot so tight and horrifying it urged you to just go and follow that ominous trail - it was fear gnawing away at your bones...

So you followed with a frown.

A can here, a can over there... until you saw it through the flash of lightning. A silhouette of a man face down, teetering on the edge of the cliffside, surrounded by empty cans.

You could barely feel your throat vibrate when your chest constricted, letting out a terribly frightened yelp. Your feet charged aimlessly towards the scene, your heart rampaging inside your chest. You collapsed next to him, hands gripping onto the drenched blue rugged jumper as you begged for him to show you any signs of life, "Shane- come on Shane wake up!"

There was a sudden shift, and you felt yourself flopping back onto your knees with wide eyes and a slack jaw, hands now buried into your lap.

"...Y/n?" Shane barely managed to wheeze out at you, jaw clenched and eyes shut firmly. He stifled a sob, "I...I'm sorry..."

You found yourself silent and unmoving, as if you had a complete understanding of the situation and knew what to do: let Shane speak his truth. Regardless, you couldn't make much noise from your voice box through the shock anyway.

The man let out a drunken hiccup and barely managed to take in another breath as he continued, "M...My life... it's a pathetic joke."

Your eyes, heavy with sadness, caught sight of the tears that escaped his ducts. Even with such heavy rain, you could just tell that those droplets sliding down his cheek grew more heavy than the downpour itself.

Shane continued, "Look at me... why do I even try?" Sobbing again, much harder this time, Shane recoiled into himself. He felt his hand slip over the edge of the cliffside and narrowly opened an eye to take a look out into the horizon, "I'm too small and stupid to... to take control of my own life. I'm just a p... piece of soiled garbage flittering in the wind..." He jerked, having almost thrown up the incredibly high amount of alcohol he had consumed prior, and felt himself nearing the edge some more, eyes now focusing on the border of the cliffside, "I've been coming here often lately... looking down... here's a chance to finally take control of my life... these cliffs..."

You could have sworn you felt your heart shatter. You knew Shane was struggling but not like this... it had you completely broken listening to the pain in his voice. Your hands shook uncontrollably as you continued to listen.

"B... but I'm too scared-" Shane jolted again, forcing his mouth shut, "... too anxious. Just like always..."

You felt Shane's attention focus on you this time, "Y/n... all I do is work, sleep and drink...t... to dull the feelings of self-hatred." He was now angling his head towards you, deep green eyes focused on your own as you silently gasped with a visible flinch, "Why should I even go on? Tell me... T... Tell me why I shouldn't roll off this cliff right now."

A moment of clarity finally hit. You knew this was your time to speak. Shane gazed at you expectantly, deep purple hair clinging to his drenched face.

You took a deep breath, barely holding back a sob of your own, before steadying yourself to speak with a broken expression,  "The decision is your own. Just know that I'm here for you."

Shane remained silent for a moment, and another roaring crash of thunder echoed overhead. The storm should surely pass soon.

Finally, he answered, a small glint of hope now shining through the dark shadow behind those eyes, "... Thanks. I appreciate that. I really do."

Your head tipped to the side, a sad frown formed upon your face as you attempted to place your hand upon Shane's, but ultimately pulled back. Shane let out a gurgled cough and groan before attempting to lift himself, though he barely managed a few centermeters before collapsing back down, "Y/n... I think you should take me to the hospital now."

Your eyes widened, and you barely had time to even think before you were on your feet and gently scooped Shane up, letting him wrap his arms around your shoulders to keep him upright, "It's gonna be a long walk... but I'll get you there. Just don't give up Shane. Stay awake. Let me know if you need to stop or anything, okay?"

Shane whined out in pain but stabled himself against you, wincing in pain as he barely managed to stand straight. He nodded, gripping onto you as if his life depended on it- which it did, of course.

You gave him a squeeze for comfort and began your perilous walk, "I'll get you there Shane. I promise..."

***

White hospital lights hummed overhead. You found yourself waking from a short nap, head against the pearl-coloured sheets of a bed, but not your own. As you rose to sit upright, your tired eyes caught sight of Shane. He was tucked neatly under the sheets, hair now mostly dry and fluffed up, sticking in all different angles but mainly falling over his closed eyes. His chest rose and fell softly in such a way that at long last showed relaxation for such a mentally exhausted individual.

A sigh of absolute relief escaped your lungs, finding yourself gazing at the man's face in awe of how peaceful he finally seemed.

"How are you Y/n?" The voice that jolted you upright was none other than Harvey, the town doctor and one you knew well. He came to stand bedside your chair, looking down.

You offered Harvey a reassuring smile, "I'm doing okay, thank you Harvey. Just a little cold."

A small nod from Harvey reaffirmed his content with your own wellbeing. You hadn't come down with a fever, nor a cough, so you were going to be fine. He then turned his attention to Shane, "I've pumped his stomach and re-hydrated his body. He's going to be okay."

You gave Harvey a slow nod, sighing in the process as you frowned softly, eyes locked onto Shane's face as he slept. You felt the warmth of Harvey's hand meet your shoulder to offer some comfort as he spoke, "It's good you brought him in, though."

A wave of concern washed over Harvey's face as he spoke, "Too much alcohol is terrible for the body, but I'm more worried about his mental health..."

Me too... you wanted to speak that out loud, but something stopped you. For now, you just wanted to remain silent.

"Once he comes to," Harvey continued, "I'll have a chat with him about his treatment options. I know an excellent councelor in Zuzu City."

Ha... something that concrete jungle is actually good for...

You felt yourself shudder. Shane seemed so peaceful now... so content. You could hardly believe that you could have lost him tonight. If you hadn't made your way back through Cindersap, who knows what would have happened... Harvey's hand squeezed your shoulder to bring you back round, and you gazed upward to meet his eye.

"Life can be painful, sometimes..." Harvey spoke with a spark of confidence, "But there's always hope for a better future. You've got to believe in that." With that, Harvey removed his hand and gave you a smile before exiting the room. You heard the audible click of the door as it shut and felt your gaze drift back over towards Shane.

Your head tipped to the side, and with a small smile, you placed your hand upon Shane's. He stirred slightly, fingers twitching, before he too began to smile ever so slightly. You felt a jolt within your chest, a warm fuzzy feeling that completely shrouded each nerve ending within you. Tonight's events... the way you felt yourself gazing so protectively over the man ahead of you, and the idea of almost losing him had your head spinning until finally you felt realisation dig its claws into you.

You'd fallen for him. You had fallen in love, and you'd almost lost that all in one night, but here you were with your hand against Shane's own.

Now you were just thankful you had taken the long walk home.

[multimuseticles]

Freya shivered as the cold rain hit her face, staring at the dark sky with a sense of unease. The clouds had rolled in suddenly, turning the already dark sky, even darker. She had been walking home through the Forest of Magic, when the storm came out of nowhere.

"Geez... really wish I had brought my umbrella with me. I only wanted to take a late night walk." The rain was getting heavier. The path ahead quickly turned muddy, and Freya’s shoes squelched with every step. She tried to cover her face with her arm, but the wind was relentless, whipping the rain into her face. She picked up her pace as loud cracks of thunder were heard.

The trees loomed closer together, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching out to grab her.

"...The forest feels scarier than usual tonight. Let's just get home quickly." A flash of lightning illuminated the forest, and Freya froze. There, just ahead on the path, stood a figure. She could only see it for a split second, but it was enough to make her blood run cold.

"Wh-what the heck was that?" She quickly looks around. "Surely I imagined that, right? Yeah, totally!" She just continued walking, trying not to think about it. The rain was a torrent now, making it hard to see. She stumbled over a root and fell, scraping her hands on the rough ground.

"...Thank god nobody was around to see that. But shit, that kinda hurt. I can't tell if I've cut myself or not, it's way too dark." As she pushed herself up, she felt a presence behind her. She suddenly froze.

"Nope. Nope. There's nothing there. I'm imagining it. But... Why can't I move?" She thought to herself. No matter what, she can't seem to move her legs.

"Ah, have you finally realised I'm here?" a voice whispered, barely audible over the storm. That confirmed it for Freya. She in fact, wasn't alone. She broke into a run, ignoring the pain in her hands and knees. The voice called again, closer this time. "Are you scared?"

"NOPE! I'M NOT DEALING WITH THIS! I STILL CAN'T EVEN SEE THEM!" She was screaming to herself in her head. Despite the storm, it wasn't actually that cold out. However, Freya felt ice cold. She was running as fast as she could, not even sure if she was running in the right direction, she almost slipped several times. But she didn't care. She just needed to get away.

Panic gave her strength, and she sprinted, her breath coming in ragged. She could see the edge of the woods now, the safety of the open field beyond. Just a few more steps. Finally, Freya made it out of the forest and had to stop to catch her breath. She quickly looked back. Nothing.

"E-eh? Where did it go...? No, you know what? I don't care. I'm going straight the hell home. I need a damn shower." With that, Freya made her way home. She had no idea what had just happened to her.

[ignisaeri]

~

At that time, all Alatus could hear was the howling of the wind, and the screams of the Yakshas as they waged war against their karmic debts.

A blaze of crimson flame splits the night sky as the Pyro Yaksha shrieks, clawing desperately at scarlet locks of hair with bloodied fingernails, trying to rid herself of demons only she can see. Her eyes flash with the light of a thousand stars as she throws her head back, pleading with the darkness in ragged gasps to leave her, to go somewhere where they could not haunt her. She’s still begging as she dies.

~

The Geo Yaksha rests his foot against the Hydro Yaksha’s abdomen, using her still body as leverage to draw his sharpened blade out from between her ribs. His eyes stare into the distance, unseeing, pupils clouded over with an inky black, fingers twitching as they hold the weapon that had killed one of his oldest friends. The Hydro Yaksha only lays quietly, death caressing her form with its bony fingers, the pool of water beneath them tinged pink from blood.

~

The Electro Yaksha falls to his knees, gaze finding Alatus’ one last time, seemingly apologizing for leaving the Anemo Yaksha alone for eternity. His slender hands float over the blade embedded in his chest, then collapses onto his side as his last breaths leave him, currents of violet electricity flickering out into nothing. He dies silhouetted against the blackness of The Chasm, as silent as the sun creeping over the horizon, even as the battle rages endlessly around them.

~

Rex Lapis gazes at Alatus with such pity, such sadness, before smiling hesitantly, gold eyes meeting the Yaksha’s.

‘Sit, Ever Vigilant Yaksha. The archon war is over. Let us share a cup of osmanthus wine.”

“Alatus, I free you from your duty as a Yaksha. In the fables of another world, the name Xiao is that of a spirit who encountered great suffering and hardship. He endured much suffering, as you have. Use this name from now on.”

“Yes, Morax.”

~

The God of Freedom seeks him out one evening, when he’s resting quietly near the edge of a cliff, feet dangling restlessly off the side, imagining the faces of the lost Yakshas floating through the clouds. Barabatos’ braids glow a gentle forest green, and he inclines his head slightly towards Xiao as he nears.

“Alatus, correct?”

“Xiao,” the adeptus corrects him.

“Xiao,” Barbatos says, “Rex Lapis told me of you.”

~

“It was you with the flute, was it not?” Xiao tells Barbatos as they watch the workers construct a massive statue in Liyue’s center, honoring the late Tianquan. Ningguang’s placid face smiles down at them as the workers dust the marble, freeing it from dust and grime.

Venti bobs his head, gaze never straying from where Rex Lapis (now Zhongli) stands with arms folded, gaze dark. With Ningguang gone, the last of the Liyue Qixing has perished.

“Yes,” Venti says. “I saved you that day.”

~

Tonight, they drink, in honor of the dead. Zhongli gingerly holds a glass of osmanthus wine, a glaze lily tucked into his hair. “To Guizhong,” he says. “Havria, Ningguang, and Tartaglia.”

Venti hiccups, face the color of an overripe tomato, the glass of dandelion wine tipping dangerously in his grip. “To the children of Mond,” he choruses. “To the Ragvindr brothers, to Jean, to Lisa, to Noelle. To Klee!”

Baal is here tonight too, and she leans forward restlessly. “To Kujou Sara,” she adds. “To Kitsune, Chiyo, and to Sasayuri.”

Tonight should be solemn, Xiao thinks, as they list the names of their dead companions. Yet, nearly five hundred years after the last of them passed, he feels nothing but contentment.

Xiao raises his own glass. “To the traveler and his sister,” he says. “And to the Yakshas”.

~

Xiao watches as Venti’s fingers dance, weaving an enticing melody through the hollow sounds of his flute. He’s sitting against a rock, the cool water of the stream lapping at his ankles, washing against the outcropping where Venti stands, a face full of bliss as he plays.

The song is one that Xiao wished to hear, one that he had first heard from the cart of a passing merchant shortly after the end of the Archon War.

The notes seem to float away into the air as he listens, chasing away the darkness in his soul, and he closes his eyes, reveling in this small moment of peace.

~

Sometimes, when Xiao sleeps, he dreams. He dreams of a woman wreathed in fire, eyes burning tears down her cheeks. He dreams of a not-truly-there man, standing with his blade buried in the chest of a woman floating limp in blood-tinged water. He dreams of purple lightning dying as a man takes his last breaths deep within The Chasm.

~

He knows, of course, that he cannot run forever. One day, he will become engulfed by his karmic debt, like the Pyro Yaksha, or go mad and disappear, like the Geo Yaksha.

That day comes sooner than he thinks.

~

Liyue is burning. The city is just as Xiao remembers, a perfect place of beauty. If he concentrates, he can still barely remember the night of the Lantern Rite, thousands of years ago. He closes his eyes and wishes to see the light of a hundred lanterns, instead of the light of fire the buildings shudder and succumb to the roaring flame.

Zhongli stands in front of him, something akin to pain in his gaze, one arm thrown to the side to keep Venti from rushing forwards. The Anemo Archon’s eyes are wide and wild, hat askew and bow grasped in shaking hands. Baal stands straight, weapon drawn, sorrow dotting her gaze.

Fontaine’s archon, the God of Justice, flits around the backdrop of burning flame, hurriedly trying to save as much of Liyue as she can. Her hands wave, spilling waves of water over the temples and buildings, undoing the damage that Xiao caused. The Dendro and Pyro Archons are busy, pulling screaming mortals from the wreckage and destruction.

Three torches and three exploding barrels, compiled with Xiao’s anemo attacks, had set all of Liyue aflame.

There is distant screaming in Xiao’s ears, sounds he knows only he can hear. Deliriously, he recalls the Pyro Yaksha howling at non-existent demons millennia ago and wonders absently if the same will afflict him.

The karmic debt has finally taken over, and it seems to favor the path the Geo Yaksha had taken. Xiao almost laughs as he realizes this, feeling trapped within his skin as he wields his polearm, pointed unwaveringly at the archons.

“I am sorry,” he rasps. There is darkness at the edge of his sight, and the screams only intensify. He can hear individual voices now, hissing and howling and wailing, crying for mercy and death and blood.

“Do not apologize,” Zhongli says. “It is not your fault.”

“What is this?” Venti gasps, the sound echoing in Xiao’s ears. “Xiao, what is happening?”

Baal answers for him. “It is the fate of a Yaksha.” Electricity begins to crackle around her shoulders, eyes darkening to violet as she calls the power of the storm.

Xiao wants to weep at how much she reminds him of the Electro Yaksha.

Maybe, he muses, he will see his fellow Yakshas again. Maybe he’ll meet Aether and Lumine too, in the place that lies after death. He may finally meet those who used to belong to Mond, the ones that Venti talks of so adoringly.

Zhongli finally draws his polearm, an earthen pillar appearing before him, casting protective gold around the archons. Xiao knows why.

He can feel the wind gusting around him, responding to calls he does not remember sending out. Leaves swirl in the gale, and trees rip their way out of the ground. The pain in his head intensifies as the number of screaming voices triple.

Xiao meets Zhongli’s gaze. Sometime, somehow, over the years, the archons had become his closest confidants. Yet, Zhongli was always his oldest companion, so now, Xiao asks Zhongli to do the impossible.

“Morax,” he croaks, using a name that hasn’t been spoken for ages. “You must.”

Zhongli’s gaze is pained, yet resolute, and that is how Xiao knows that Morax will kill him to save the world. Baal seems to sense this too, and lightning strikes the ground not too far away, anxiously awaiting her command.

It is only Venti who has not yet seemed to grasp the situation. He frowns at both archons. “What must you do, Zhongli?”

Zhongli only shakes his head, and Xiao knows it pains him to be the one who will have to kill the last Yaksha. So he answers Venti, limbs shaking as he desperately tries to contain the whirlwind threatening to tear from his chest.

“He must kill me. If he does not, I fear I will destroy Teyvat. I have lost control over my body, Venti.”

Barbatos’ eyes flash green, and Xiao is yet again reminded of the power of the archons. “No,” he says simply. “You cannot die. To live for thousands of years, to drink with us, all this time? You cannot die like this.”

Xiao loses concentration, just a tiny sliver, yet the gust of wind that tears from him shears the top off of a nearby mountain. He groans, harnessing the gale yet again, even as the action forces him to his knees.

“Morax,” he says again. “Please.”

Zhongli looks at him, and the archon’s eyes are glistening in the light of the dancing flames, as wind whips his hair into his face.

“Alatus,” he says, and his voice is full of hurt and resignation. “It has been an honor.”

Yes, Xiao wants to answer back, but he cannot force his mouth to move. He just nods, shaking his head as if he can jar the wailing into silence.

Venti starts towards Zhongli, power thrumming at the edges of his fingers, seemingly ready to resort to battle in order to prevent Xiao’s death, and that is when Baal moves. She slams into Venti, pushing him into the ground, even as wind starts to whirl around them - Venti’s magic, not Xiao’s. Her element locking curse comes a second later, binding itself around Venti, even as he hisses at her in protest.

“Xiao,” Venti cries, twisting as if he can escape the curse. His hat is lost, blown away in the wind, and his hair has come loose from its braids, flying around his face.

“Barbatos,” Xiao whispers. “I never thanked you, for saving me that day.”

Venti pauses, for a second, stunned into silence.

“Thank you,” Xiao says, over the voices in his head. “Thank you.”

Baal only looks at him solemnly, and Xiao stares back at her. They exchange no words, but Baal just nods, once, the simple gesture conveying everything he needs to know.

Xiao holds her gaze for a few more seconds, turning back to find the point of Zhongli’s spear resting above his heart.

Zhongli's face is twisted in grief, yet his blade still hits true, sliding into the hollow space between Xiao's third and fourth ribs.

Xiao chokes, the whirl of wind around him finally dying out. His legs buckle and he falls ungraciously, feeling gentle hands grasping at his clothes as he does.

Somewhere, Venti is screaming his name.

The wailing inside his skull is dissipating, and near the edges of his sight, Xiao can make out swirls of color. At first, he thinks they are the archons, and his failing body cannot see the details of their faces. Then, he recognizes a blue that does not belong to those in the present.

“Rest,” Zhongli whispers, as Xiao fades. “Rest, Alatus.”

And Xiao does, letting himself fall into the embrace of the Yaksha's, who are only becoming clearer, even as Xiao dies.

~

637 years later, a scholar strolls through the bookshelves of Sumeru's most famous academy, searching for a piece of information that could support her thesis.

She turns into a lane labelled Mondstadt: The City of Freedom, and begins to scan the titles, careful to replace everything exactly where she finds it.

There are two other travelers within the small space between the bookshelves, and they're talking to each other, quite loudly.

The scholar frowns. No matter how foreign these travelers are, the rule of silence in a library should be universal.

The first traveler, a tall man with golden eyes and umber hair that falls to his lower back flips another page in his book, completely ignoring his companion. A jade spear is strapped across his back, and the scholar thinks idly that the weapon looks more like a piece of art, with great wings of green jade shattering outwards from the main spike.

The tall man's companion is quite short, with yellow cat like eyes and evergreen tufts of hair, a pink pearl necklace slung loosely around his throat. His boyish grin seems quite misplaced.

It only takes the scholar a few moments to figure out why.

A few months ago, the scholar had studied ancient folklore of Liyue. Among them was a tale of several Yakshas, the last of whom had supposedly been buried beneath a statue of himself, on the highest peak in Liyue.

The man standing before her looks exactly the same as the grainy photo in the text. However, in the scroll of lore, the last Yaksha had worn a fierce scowl across his features, nothing like the one that stands before her now.

"Come, Zhongli," the should-be-dead Yaksha says, tugging on his friend's sleeve. "Baal is waiting for us."

"Baal can wait a while longer," the taller man says, turning the page of his book a while longer, which the scholar now sees is a copy of The Ruling System of Mondstadt: Grandmasters and Cavalry Captains.

"You said you wanted me to learn more about Mond, didn't you?" the taller man continues. "Besides, I am quite intrigued as to exactly who this 'Kaeya' is, the one you keep referencing."

The yaksha frowns. "Kaeya," he says. "Diluc's brother."

At his companion's blank stare, the yaksha says. "I'll remind you later," he chides. "We really must be going, Zhongli."

The scholar startles, embarrassed that she eavesdropped for so long. However, she still hears what the tall man says back.

"Fine. Let us go, Venti."

[the-iceni-bitch]

A Warm Fire

Pairing: Valkyrie/Brunnhilde/Fem-Reader

Word Count: 3876

Summary: Val helps you warm up after you get caught in a storm.

Warnings: Fluff, Spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War and Endgame (erring on the safe side with this one), Explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex- f receiving, scissoring, fingering) SMUT, 18+

A/N: I’ve decided for my b-day week I want to bless all you sweet bitches with a brand new smutty fic each day. My holes are worn out from all the rough himbo sex I’ve been throwing at you, so today I wanted to soften things up with something for my WLW ladies. I sub for no man, but Val could spit in my mouth and turn me into a housewife!

“Well, fuck.” You sighed.

You had hoped you’d be able to outrun the storm you saw rolling in off the coast on your weekly trip to New Asgard but hadn’t even been driving for an hour when lightning started streaking across the sky and the clouds let loose a deluge that had your ancient pickup’s wipers maxed out. You couldn’t even see 20 feet in front of you and slammed on the brakes suddenly when you came upon a massive tree blocking the road. The engine stalled out and you had now been trying to turn it over for 10 minutes with no luck.

You had thankfully been able to contact Aud and Sigurd and have them bring your animals in and batten down the barn, but there was no way you were making it back tonight. You resigned yourself to sleeping in your front seat when a pile of rocks reared out of no where and tapped on your window, causing you to let out a shriek.

“Everything ok in there?”

“Jesus Christ, Korg, what are you doing out here?”

The massive Kronan straightened back up and you thought you saw his brow furrow before his face split open in a wide grin.

“Y/N, excellent! Some of us got concerned once the storm rolled in and Val sent out a group to make sure you made it off of the Fjord ok.”

“Ok, well clearly this piece of shit is not cut out for Skagerrak storms.” You told him as you stepped out into the deluge, pulling your parka around you tightly as the wind tried to whip your hood off. “I don’t suppose you drove here in any sort of vehicle?”

“As a matter of fact, Miek drove the Jeep.”

“I’m sorry, Miek drove?” The thought of the Sakaarian larval creature driving a vehicle filled you with equal parts horror and mirth. “Do you mind if I drive us back?”

“Probably for the best. I told him that knife hands are not conducive for steering but you know he doesn’t listen to me.”

You let out a laugh as Korg lumbered into the large trailer hooked to the back of the Jeep, causing it to sink into the mud a bit. Miek scooted into the passenger seat as you turned the vehicle around and started to head back to Tønsberg.

Your cautious driving extended the trip by a good 45 minutes. The thunder had stopped but it was still pouring as you parked the jeep in one of the converted stables. Korg and Miek gave you a wave as they headed back to Thor’s, Korg carrying 3 of the pallets of Aquavit you had brought with you earlier.

You headed towards the town square and saw Brunnhilde leaning against the posts in front of her small brick house, watching the storm that was still raging out at sea before she saw you and broke out in a grin.

“Y/N, I told you not to head out in this! That piece of shit truck of yours give out on you?”

“What do you think, Hilde? I just decided to walk all the back to your house for fun in this?” You shook out your hair as the two of you stepped inside, spraying her with a thin mist of rainwater.

“Ah, you bitch! Get out of those wet clothes, I got a fire started and some dry towels and blankets set out for you. Want a hot toddy?”

You winced at the thought as you started peeling yourself out of your soaked jeans. “I’d like to be able to wake up tomorrow hon. Your hot toddys are literally just a hot mug of Aquavit with a slice of lemon.” You cursed yourself silently for introducing the Asgardians to the spicy Scandinavian liquor that you now had to truck in every week. While it was extremely lucrative, they now put it in everything.

Hilde sauntered back into the main room carrying two steaming mugs as you wrapped yourself in a wool blanket and settled in front of the fire, wearing only your bra and panties.

She rolled her eyes at you and handed you a mug, which you took a wary sniff of and were pleasantly surprised to find it was just peppermint tea.

“You’re just a lightweight.” She said as she curled up in her armchair, wrapping one hand around her mug while the other picked up the worn book that was sitting on the end table.

“How do you like it so far?” You asked her, sipping your tea slowly as you waited for it to cool.

“The writing is lovely, but it’s pretty inaccurate.”

The friendship the two of you had built over the past 3 years was something truly lovely. When she and the rest of the refugees had landed, after the snap, they were all hollow shells of grief. Thor shut himself away almost immediately, and Hilde found herself thrust into a position of leadership she had never wanted. All of them wanted nothing more than to be left alone with their sorrows, doing just enough to keep themselves alive.

The first storm off the Skaggerak had almost devastated their new home though, and when she contacted Banner for help, he called you. You still kept in touch after your years together at university, and he knew you had settled somewhere in Norway and could arrive to lend a hand faster than he could.

Your arrival brought some much needed distraction to their sleepy town. You had managed to round up a group of your Norwegian neighbors, along with some fellow expats, and set about making the necessary changes to assure that New Asgard would be a thriving community. While the rest of your group set to restructuring architecture, and teaching the town’s new inhabitants the necessities of a seaside existence on the windy Fjord, you began the slow process of helping the refugees move on from their sorrow.

Your anthropology doctorate was specialized in Norse culture, after all, and you would often bring small reminders of their lost home with you whenever you came to visit. Whether it was a collection of replicated Talharpas, Skalmejens, and Lurs to give to the children to learn music or a large cache of drinking horns to stock their taverns, every time your truck came lumbering down the hills, Brunnhilde watched the faces of her citizens light up with anticipation for some new pleasant surprise. When you arrived with your first load of Aquavit and spent the night drinking with them and singing the drinking songs they knew well, you were all but confirmed as an honorary Asgardian. Your haunting rendition of Lilja actually brought tears to a few eyes.

Brunnhilde made sure to let you know how grateful she was as much as possible. She would always have some small gift for you when you arrived, but all you asked her for was to sit and talk, discussing the history of Asgard and the nine realms as you scribbled copious notes. She loved watching your face screw up in concentration as you bent over one of your notebooks, one stubborn lock of hair falling into your face.

She laughed to herself softly now as she remembered the visit a few weeks ago when she had first introduced you to her winged steed, Aragorn. Your look of awe had been replaced quickly with uncontrollable laughter when she had told you his name. You refused to tell her what was so funny, but she was determined to get it out of you at some point.

You had brought your original copy of Snorri’s Edda the next week, and she had read it through 3 times already.

She ran her hands softly over the spine of the book before tossing back the rest of her toddy and setting the book and her mug back on the end table before sinking to the floor behind you and nuzzling herself into your hair, sighing as she inhaled the scent of fresh rain.

You leaned back into her slowly, giving a soft hum of contentedness. She slipped the blanket off of your shoulders to pool around your waist as she left a trail of soft kisses down your neck, before softly raising a bruise into your collarbone with her mouth.

The moan you gave her made her grin against your skin, and she slipped one hand into the front of your bra, softly drawing her fingers across your nipple.

“Fuck, Hilde!” you pressed your chest further into her hand as her other moved behind you to unhook your bra and slip it off your shoulders, freeing your breasts. She felt your nipples harden against her fingers as she turned your head and slowly teased your mouth open with her tongue.

“Eyes open, pretty girl.” She whispered as her left hand continued to palm at your breast and roll your nipple between her fingers. You stared at her through your lashes as she brought her right hand up and put her index and middle finger in your mouth. You gave them a soft nip before sucking and swirling your tongue around them slowly.

She grinned at you wickedly as she dragged her soaked fingers down your torso at an agonizing pace, leaving a thin trail of your saliva before she tucked them under the edge of your panties and dragged them over your sopping cunt, separating the soft folds there to tease against your entrance.

“Oh, poor baby, look how much this pussy missed me?” She said as you let out a thin keen, screwing your eyes shut and dropping your head against her neck. She slapped your tit suddenly and tweaked your nipple hard, making you gasp. “You better keep those eyes open if you want me to let you come sweetheart. You want me to stretch this pretty pussy around my fingers and make you feel good?”

“Yes, god” you let out breathlessly, forcing your eyes open as she studied your face.

“Ah, ah, ask nicely.”

“Yes please.” You hissed as her fingers continued to tease at your folds, lightly brushing against your clit.

“Good girl”

She slipped one finger inside of you slowly and you immediately clenched around it as she pressed it against that soft spongy spot.

“Ooh, honey. You’re so fucking tight, I’m gonna stretch you out so good.” She whispered against your lips as she kissed you softly.

Her second finger slipped in easily and she started fucking them into you slowly, pressing her palm against your clit as she did so and your arousal seeped all over her hand. Your breath was hitching in your chest as she increased her pace.

You felt yourself flutter around her and it took all of your willpower to not screw your eyes shut and drop against her shoulder. You ground yourself against her hand as she suddenly slowed down, hungry for more friction.

“You want me to add another finger, sweet girl?” She asked slyly, teasing her promise against your entrance.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak so you nodded at her, your chest heaving as she continued palming your breast and you felt a resounding shiver in your core.

“You’re lucky I’m soft on you sweetie, I should be making you beg for this.” She murmured as she shoved all three of her fingers in suddenly, causing you to let out a small cry as she started fucking them into you at a rough speed. “I’m just finishing you off so I can feel this sweet mouth of yours on my cunt. You want to taste me baby?”

“Shit, Hilde!” The thought of her taste on your tongue sent you over the edge as she drove her palm into your clit one last time and you released around her, fluttering as you soaked her hand. Her strong arms held you still as your orgasm wracked you and every muscle trembled. Once you had ridden it out, she drew her hand out of your ruined panties to suck on her fingers.

“Mmm, you taste so good honey. Don’t you think?” She placed her mouth on yours and pressed her tongue against yours and you moaned as you tasted your own release.

“Help me out of my clothes baby, I need to ride that pretty face.”

She climbed around you and settled into your lap, kissing you deeply and making happy little humming sounds. You drew her sweater up over her head and tossed it aside, and were pleasantly surprised to see she wasn’t wearing a bra. You gave her a wicked grin before lifting her up and pressing her chest to your face, latching your mouth to one of her nipples as your hands cupped her ass through her leggings. She gave a light laugh and tossed her head back as her fingers carded themselves through your hair. You brought one of your hands between the two of you, shoving it down the front of her leggings and drawing your fingers through her slick, making her gasp.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking greedy.” She laughed lightly as you peppered her chest with kisses, occasionally creating some light suction with your tongue to raise a light bruise. “Mmm, you know just what to do, but I want to come all over that beautiful face of yours.”

You smiled against her chest as you gently nuzzled yourself between her breasts before falling back abruptly and making her gasp.

“You are being such a trouble maker, today, Y/N. Fine, I’m going grind your pussy so good before I rub that smirk off your face with my cunt.”

She sat up between your legs a drew your soaked panties off before removing her own leggings. She stretched your right leg off to the side and lightly drew her fingers up the inside of your thigh, removing them right before she reached your quivering pussy and making you whine.

“Don’t be a brat baby. Look at this pretty pussy, just weeping for me.” She stared at your swollen cunt with a grin as she hooked a hand under your left knee and positioned herself so she was straddling you, her soft folds just kissing yours as she hovered there. “You want to feel my pussy on yours, baby? Want me to grind that clit so good? You better fucking beg for it.”

“Oh god, pleasepleaseplease…” you let out in a hiss as she pressed herself down and ground herself into you.

“Mmm, I feel that sweet pussy quivering for me. God, you’re like my own fucking vibrator.” She kept twisting her hips into yours, hitting you at that perfect angle each time and making you mewl and whimper unintelligibly as she edged you closer to your release. She unbent your right leg slowly, running her thumb up your calf before nipping at the pad of your big toe, making you arch into her. “No no, sweetheart, isn’t it so much better when you hold still? You know I’ll take care of you.”

She stretched your right leg out so you were wide open and pinned your thighs down with her hands as she picked up the pace. She bit her lip and gazed down at you through hooded eyes and you felt her core twitch against yours. One more drive of her hips and you came apart at the same time, your releases mixing together to coat the insides of your thighs. You let out a scream while she just gasped, still managing to hold you down as your pleasure wracked through you and you wound your hands into the blanket beside you for some kind of anchor.

“Fuck baby, this pussy is so good to me. I wanna run my tongue over this pretty cunt while I ride your face. You better be good for me.”

She twisted herself around to straddle your face. You softly nipped at her left cheek then gave her ass a slap, making her yelp, and she responded by smacking your pussy twice before grinding into your face.

“Oohh, are you going to be a bad girl?” She scolded you as you wrapped your arms around her thighs and teased her folds with your tongue. “Am I going to have to edge you all nigh… Fuck!!” Your tongue found her entrance and you moaned into her cunt, causing vibrations that made her clench against your face. “God, baby, you’re so good at that. Your miss this pussy so bad, look at the mess you’re making.” She separated your folds and softly blew against your clit before shoving three fingers into you with no preparation. “Mmm, you’re fucking ready for me sweetheart, I’m barely even stretching you now. You want me to add another finger?”

She gave your clit another soft slap and you came suddenly, legs and core trembling as you clenched and released around her fingers. You tried to come up for air, but Hilde just ground her hips into your face.

“Na-ah.” She scolded you. “You wanted to get fresh with me and now you better make me come if you want to breathe. You get to work. I’m going to wring every ounce of pleasure out of this pussy until you give me what I want, I don’t care if you pass out.”

She inserted a fourth finger into your canal and started to fuck them all into you, flicking soft kitten licks against your small bundle of nerves before she latched onto it, sucking hard.

Tears started streaming down your face as another orgasm ripped through you. You were starting to feel light-headed from a mixture of pleasure and oxygen deprivation. She drew her tongue slowly up and down your entrance while her fingers kept moving inside you, doing her best to lap up your release before her tongue went back to massaging your clit.

You barely skimmed your teeth against her clit and she let out a soft cry against you, slapping your pussy in response and making you come again. You shook your head to bury yourself deeper into her folds and fought off the urge to pass out before shoving your tongue into her pussy and bringing your fingers up to rub harsh circles into her tiny apex of pleasure.

She collapsed against you at the sudden change in sensation with a gasp before she rose up to really grind into you.

You started fucking your tongue in and out of her, making sure to press it against her g-spot each time and felt her thighs tense around your face.

“God baby, don’t fucking stop. Fuck, just like that, right there. That tongue of yours is so fucking good. You’re so fucking good. Feels so good.” You knew when she started babbling breathlessly like this she was close. She brought one of her hands up to palm her breast as her other gripped the wrist of the hand you had working her clit, making sure you didn’t move away.

Just as the edges of your vision started to close in, you felt her core vibrate and her cunt clenched around your tongue as her release gushed into your mouth. The only sound she made was a rapid breathless pant and she rolled off of you slowly, finally allowing you to suck in oxygen as stars swam behind your vision. You did your best to catch your breath as you felt her stretch languidly beside you before she sat up to stare at you.

“Fuck, baby. I don’t know why I let you take this pussy away from me. I know you just lay there by yourself every night dreaming of my fingers buried in you.” She slowly drew a hand along your slit and you groaned when she brushed against your overstimulated clit. “Just swollen and crying for me. Whose pussy is this baby?” She asked you, curling her fingers against your mound.

You knew if you didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, she would wring it out of you, and if you had any more orgasms you were going to pass out. “Yours, baby.” You murmured, staring at her through your eyelashes.

“Good girl.” She patted your cunt twice, making you twitch, before she bent down and kissed you softly.

She stood up and collected your mugs and brought them back into the kitchen, wiggling her ass at you when she felt you watching her, making you laugh.

“Can you throw some more logs on the fire, Y/N? I’ll grab us some clean blankets and pillows and we can sleep out here.”

“Yes ma’am.” You called back to her, breaking the current logs apart with the poker before adding three new ones and stoking it. You gathered your discarded clothes and the soiled blanket in a bundle and headed to the bathroom to put them in the hamper and run a damp towel against your sex to clean up, bringing another out with you as you headed back to the fire, where Hilde had piled a ridiculous amount of blankets and pillows in a massive nest for the two of you.

You sank down next to her and she drew your face to hers for a kiss. You smiled against her lips as you gently drew the soft towel you had brought with you over her cunt and along her thighs to clean her off as she gave a contented sigh.

“Stay.” She said softly, nuzzling softly into your neck as you held her against her chest and slowly sank back against the pile of cushions, giving her hair a soft kiss.

“Hilde, the road is out, I’m not going anywhere until tomorrow.”

“No, Y/N. Stay. Move here with me. I need you.” She looked up at you with genuine pleading in her eyes. You had never seen such open emotion on her face before.

You only had to think about it for a minute. The weeks between your trips were always spent planning your next visit. Thinking over what you wanted to talk to Hilde about. Your bed felt empty without her there.

“I need you too baby. I love you.” You whispered to her, tipping her chin up to look into her eyes as you gave her a gentle smile.

Her face split into a grin. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course, Hilde.”

“Oh god, Y/N, I love you too!” She drew your face down to hers and kissed you deeply, clutching you to her needily before releasing you with a grin. “I miss that pussy almost as much as it misses me.”

You laughed at that and laid back with a sigh. Hilde rested her head between your breasts and brought her hands close around your sides, pulling the thick wool blanket around the two of you tightly.

“Just make sure Miek doesn’t try to fight my sheep again.” You whispered to her, running a hand softly up and down her back.

“That was a misunderstanding.” She smiled against you as her breathing slowed and deepened, and she sunk closer to sleep.

The two of you laid there intertwined for the rest of the night, drifting off as the fire crackled and died. You had never felt so content in your life.

[writefightandflightclub]

Not in Kansas anymore (Santi x reader)

Summary: Santi shelters you when you’re afraid of a storm. Honestly, there’s no better man for the job.

Rating: TEEN

Author’s note: I’m doing soft blurbs this week bc you all deserve a hug from one of our fave fictional husbands. Let’s all destress and be comforted one blurb at a time, okay? (I’m doing these quickly so I can complete as many as I can for you, so they’ll be a bit scrappy, please forgive!) I wanted to post this one yesterday but it wasn’t working and I was tired, and I hope I fixed it enough now for it to be okay!

Warnings: it’s fluff, sweeties. Swearing, and steam at the end but no smut. Theme of storms throughout, but they’re never in real dager or peril. Incorrect Spanish, probably (feel free to correct me, I try!). Wizard of Oz references.

GIF by @boydswan​

Wind howls and rain lashes, rattling the windows and begging to be let inside, thunder rumbling and rolling like it’s hunkering down right on the roof of your house.

“Princesa, you’re adorable,” Santi coos as he holds you close beneath the covers, feeling you jump and whimper sweetly as pulses of lightning illuminate the room, the sky splitting overhead.

The tumult rages like two fists of God have reached into the sky to tear it open. You whelp as another fork blitzes through the dark, sending shadows skittering for cover across your bedroom. This room is usually your sanctuary, but right now it doesn’t feel that way at all.

Your hands -bundled against Santi’s chest- fist into his soft sleep shirt, and you bury your head in the crook of his neck, hoping he can shelter you from this storm.

“Baby, holy shit, you’re genuinely scared,” Santi realises, feeling your heart thud as you crush yourself against him and try to climb him like a spider monkey. He presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head and wraps you in his arms, even as his chest shakes with a gentle, good-natured chuckle; no doubt due to how goddamn cute he thinks you are right now.

He hasn’t seen you scared often. As far as he’s concerned, ordinarily you’re a badass, and he likes to remind you how he’s sure you could give any one of his squad a decent run for their money. That’s why you’re loathe to let him see you so frightened, lest he starts to think you’re soft, but at the same time... you need him to throw his body over you and bundle you under the covers like a little sushi roll right now, thank you very much, because fuuuuuuck. This storm is loud and you are terrified and if he doesn’t hold you tighter you think you might actually start to cry. 

At least Santi seems to find you precious in your current state. At least he seems to get a kick out of protecting you. He always likes to make a fuss of you - feel like your big, strong man, but you’re so independent and capable that you rarely give him the opportunity to take care of you. It’s usually the other way around.

Right now though, you are clinging to him. More tightly than you ever have, perhaps, until his dog tags press uncomfortably into your chest. In fact, Santi lets out a choked, crushed sound from the pit of his chest which is only half-mocking.

“Shit, preciosa, when this blows over we should talk about entering you in some kind of wrestling league. Are you for real?” There is a beat as he squirms a little in your grip. As he wriggles though, he seems to grow a little more comfortable in it. “Why don’t you ever pin me down so hard in other contexts, baby?” Again, you think he’s only half-mocking.

You exhale a pathetic little whimper in response and Santi’s heart must melt at the sound, as when he speaks again his voice is like caramelised sugar; warm, and slow and liquid.

“You know, we’re perfectly safe, hermosa,” Santi promises in a calm, slow voice as thunder shakes the house again, rain lashing even more ferociously against the window pane, rafters creaking above your heads and tree branches being whipped around in the yard. “Tranquila, mi amor. Yo te protegeré. Estás a salvo conmigo.” He does his best to lull and calm you.

You know this is starting to get out of hand, but you can’t seem to hold on to the rational thought that everything will be alright. You hate storms. Have since you were a kid. Even as Santi’s gorgeous voice soothes you and his gentle hands smooth over your back, the sounds outside continue to stoke your panic.

“You don’t know that we’re safe!” you respond irrationally, in a voice two octaves above your normal pitch.

“This isn’t some Wizard of Oz shit, baby,” Santi snickers fondly, a deep, rich laughter rumbling in his chest. He makes sure to keep his tone soft and calming. “I promise you won’t blow away into some trippy dream where ‘Fish is trapped behind an emerald curtain.” He soothes his broad hand steadily over your back, and the sheer Santi-ness of him helps to distract you. “Shit - you’d look cute in that little gingham dress though.”

You can’t help but exhale a little guffaw into his neck at his comment, but you remain all tense and coiled up as you cling on to him, another sky-splitting rumble sounding overhead.

“Clearly I’d be the cowardly lion,” you say in a small, self-pitying voice, and Santi squeezes you just a little tighter, despite the already suffocating nature of your embrace.

“You had the courage all along, mi pequeña leona,” he calms, tone hushed.

This cuddling is all very well, but apparently Santi is overheating, and he taps your back a few times in quick succession as he tells you as much. With effort, he finally extrictaes himself from you enough to pull back and examine your face. He regards your wide, worried eyes in the dim light. Your knitted eyebrows. The way your lips are pinched together into a thin line.

His eyes are soft as he looks at you, tipping your chin up delicately with the hook of his thumb. You can see words on the tip of his tongue. Perhaps something about how cute you are, fond but gently teasing, but he evidently opts to bite them back. 

“Okay. Well, shit. We’re obviously not gonna be sleeping,” he says, reaching towards the bedside lamp. You consider reminding him for the tenth time that evening to stay the fuck away from any electricals, Santi, I need you alive, but you can’t imagine it stopping him when it didn’t the nine times before. He flicks the light on, and you can see now how wide awake he is, despite the dark circles under his eyes. You feel a little guilty for keeping him up, but it’s not as though you are doing this on purpose, and you know he understands. 

“Give me your hand,” he says softly, slipping out from under the covers, his deep voice still even; comforting and steady, like him. “I have just the thing to make you feel safe,” he promises.

You look sceptical, but you would rather go where he goes than be left at the mercy of the storm, and so you take his hand and he guides you to standing.

“I’ll grab this duvet. Could you bring the pillows, and a bunch of blankets from the chest, baby?”

You pad tentatively towards the chest at the foot of your king bed. It’s not lost on Santi that you crouch slightly, hunkering down as if the storm might reach through the ceiling or the window and grab you at any moment. Ingoring the fond amusement in his eyes you lift the lid of the chest, scooping out a pile of blankets before actually beginning to wonder what he’s up to.

“Santi? You’re not going to suggest we sleep in the yard are you? Just know I will not take kindly to exposure therapy right now,” you warn, voice fraught.

“Just trust me,” he replies mysteriously, and so you oblige and follow him, his destination a surprise as he traipses through the house, the duvet bundled up to his person like a huge cloud.

You cower behind him like he’s your shield, Santi fearless in the face of the malestrom. You follow as he jostles the duvet through into the living room, and plonks all of the items down in the middle of the floor, getting you to follow suit.

“Baby, can you go and get that box of spare string lights from under the sink?”

Your face scrunches up at the thought of moving through the house alone, but Santi gives you a kiss to the forehead to smooth your worry lines, and an inspiring little pat on the ass. “You’ve got this, cutie.” You see the flash of his white teeth as he smiles at you through the half-dark, a soft glow from the streetlamp filtering through the window.

You do as requested, and it takes you a little while to root around for the lights, but by the time you return, you see exactly what Santi had in mind. Boy, that man works fast!

He’s stripped off all of the couch cushions, moved your easy chairs, and created an elaborate (and suspiciously sturdy looking) blanket fort in no time at all. All that time erecting military tents in hostile locations has apparently come in handy.

When he becomes aware of your presence, he turns and looks at you with the softest puppy dog eyes as you survey the room. “This okay, Princesa?”

This man.

Your man. How did you get so lucky again?

He never fails to surprise you. He keeps you safe. He is your shelter in a storm. His warmth finds you in any weather. And you hope he can see you smiling at him in the half-dark, a beam of light cutting through the panic which clouds you.

At that moment, a particularly loud rumble of thunder sounds, causing you to grab for Santi’s hand. He uses the contact to bundle you into his chest, sneaking a few soft kisses from your lips as he does so. You wind your arms around his neck as his sturdy circumference loops around you, his warmth finding you.

“Now you’re doubly safe from the storm,” he reassures. “You have me to keep you safe and everyone knows blanket forts are impenetrable.”

“Impenetrable?” you repeat, the corners of your lips twitching up into a cautious smile.

“Of course,” Santi deadpans. “That’s why the military uses them exclusively. When me and the boys were out in the field, Princesa? This shit is what we were sleeping in.”

You laugh gently, as his soothing hands begin their roam up and down your back again. He makes you feel so safe. So loved. So sheltered.

“This is the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me, Santi,” you say, a small break in your voice. “I love you. So much.”

His eyes are full of softness again, his thumb hooking under your chin and tipping your mouth to his for another soft kiss. He says “I love you” back with his lips, in a way that you recognise from being told a thousand times in a thousand ways, his words written again and again all over your body. This time his tongue says it gently against yours, letting you know he’ll take care of you in all the ways he knows how and any ways he can possibly learn.

Reluctantly, he pulls away and gets back to this important business of the blanket fort.

“Pass me those string lights, baby, and let’s get this shit up to grade, huh? Gotta see this change of station through, and I need you inside for snuggles by oh-two-hundred hours.”

You giggle at his faux serious tone, and he gently pats your ass again as you hand the lights to him. You wonder if he asked you to grab the battery-powered lights on purpose so you wouldn’t worry about them connecting to the mains. Knowing Santi, you reckon he probably did.

You watch him kneel down and crawl face first into the fort, and you see the cosy, cushioned interior illuminate with a backdrop like stars as he drapes the lights around the place. As he crawls you get a particularly nice view of his ass sticking out of the fort too, which you are definitely not complaining about. 

“Nice ass, Santiago,” you purr, feeling better already with the thought of clambering inside this magical cosy den with your love, even as the storm continues to rattle the windows. 

His voice returns to you muffled by the blankets, but you can hear the smile in it. “Gotta get my lady a room with a view.”

Once he’s done with the lights, he scoots over and makes space for you to to clamber in alongside him. He reaches towards the blanket he’s fashioned as a doorway and clasps it in his hand, turning his head towards you.

“You ready? These things are inpenetrable, so you’d better be sure about this. Once we’re inside, babe, they might never find us again.”

A happy grin splits your face, your shoulders shaking in mirth. “Fine by me, mi angelito. I’ll happily lay here with you forever.”

Santi smiles, the reflection of the fairy lights dancing alongside the adoration in his eyes, and he quickly batterns down the hatches and slots in beside you. He tugs a plush, fleecy cover over the two of you, wrapping you up in his strong arms. You lie on your sides, face-to-face, and you nuzzle closer, throwing your thigh over his body, twining your legs with his.

This time, rather than suffocating him, you leave a space between you - just enough so you can see his face resting on the pillow, the ambient, yellow light gently picking out the contours of him. That shapely jaw, those plush lips, and those big beautiful eyes, shining softly for you.

Suddenly, it’s so easy to forget the storm raging outside, when you’re doubly protected. An inpenetrable blanket fort, glowing softly with the yellowed light of stars, and, most importantly, Santi’s warm, sturdy arms providing you shelter from the storm.

“You still scared, baby?” he asks gently, voice little above a whisper, hooking his thumb delicately under your chin once again.

“Not so much,” you reply honestly, captivated with his twinkling eyes. 

“Feel safe with your man?” he asks, as you can feel the swell of pride in his tone - can see it inch over his face as his eyes glow with the thought that you are his to take care of.

“I do,” you answer, leisurely smoothing your hand over his chest, his shoulder, and into his grizzled hair. “I feel very safe with you, Santiago Garcia.”

Santi’s delicious lips curve up into a smile, even as he tips your mouth up to his, telling you he loves you with his kiss once again. This time, though, he lets his kiss grow, languid but gradually building until it is swelling between you like a storm surge, a rumbled groan coming from his throat like gentle thunder. Now, this... this is the kind of storm you can get on board with.

He smoothes his hands over your back again, but this time his hands continue their journey down your body sweeping over your ass and down the thigh you have thrown over his torso.

He hums softly as he feels the warmth of your bare skin, and breaks from you, lips still puckered and eyelashes fanned on his cheeks. He opens his eyes and searches yours, checking that you’re on board with where this might be going. 

“We’re obviously not sleeping, right?” he probes playfully. “This shelter is far too comfortable and romantic to waste?”

Searching your face, Santi finds your eyes shining with hunger. Your hands move to cling to him again, like earlier, albeit towards an entirely different end. Your hands fist in his sleep shirt to pull him closer, and you arch your hips towards his.

“Hmm. Well I much prefer the sound of you keeping me up all night, my love,” you purr, tugging his lips back towards you and tilting your head so they find that sweet spot on your neck.

He groans eagerly into your neck, nuzzling his lips and nose into you. “Fuck. I love storms,” he enthuses, his breath hot on your skin.

“You know? I’m starting to like them too, mi alma,” you confess, rolling lazily on top of him and enclosing him safely beneath you. “Let me take care of you.”

Santi has kept you safe in this storm, and suddenly you’re feeling brave enough to shelter him too. Perhaps you had the courage all along.

The End

BONUS:

Look, but just imagine ‘Fish as the Wizard of Oz. I CANNOT.

“And you were there. And you, and you!” pointing to all the boys?

[the-lady-writes-what]

Gilded Cage, Part One

Summary:

Keigo Takami, AKA Hawks, has turned villain and you don't know why. After a run-in with the League of Villains, you give chase after the former hero. When you end up taking a bullet to the knee, you're surprised that Keigo not only left you alive, but has taken you to his secret lair. He's built a special cage for you. He says it's to keep the League from coming after you, but you can't help but wonder if it's true or if he just wants you for himself.

Content: Kidnapping Sorry. No smut this time, but it'll be in the next one. Stay tuned

Villain!Hawks x Hero!Reader

(You're a pro-hero whose quirk is basically bending metal. Think Toph Beifong from Avatar: The Last Airbender)

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

This part does not contain smut (See above mentioned note). For smut, please follow the links for Parts 2 and 3

                                                       ---080---

It was hard to walk down the halls of Endeavor’s agency these days. The news of Keigo Takami’s, also known as Hawks, betrayal hit Japan’s hero world like a tsunami. It turned into a question of who the next hero will be to go against their moral code and become a villain. Your workload had increased in the drama and paranoia that followed after Keigo’s sudden villainous change. Endeavor worked you down to the bone, but that was because he must have seen you as useful. Your hero name? Iron Maiden on account of your ability to bend metal, such as iron, steel, and copper. Netting bad guys was a whole lot easier when you could wrap them in a fence or trap them with a lamppost.

You finished the afternoon’s paperwork before heading to the breakroom for some lukewarm coffee. You half-expected Keigo to be sitting on the counter where you used to find him. He used to be a fan of Endeavor’s, so he frequented the agency whenever he felt like it. Of all the time you got to see him, it became evident that he wasn’t there to goof around Endeavor’s office. You should have known better than to encourage his casual flirting, but you couldn’t help yourself. Keigo was the first guy who turned your way after a dry spell in the romance department. It had been months since you last had a date, and even if Keigo was joking, it was nice to have a conversation with someone that didn’t involve hero work.

If only you knew back then that his over-confident smile belied an insidious plan to turn to the other side.

Keigo didn’t hurt people. Much. It wasn’t a great comfort to know that he at least didn’t go around murdering people as soon as he became a villain. That didn’t change the fact that he had become one of them. He robbed banks, caused collateral damage to the cityscape, and set the hero society into panic mode. Nobody knew who would switch sides. Heroes and civilians were starting to look at each other with suspicious eyes ever since.

You fixed yourself a cup of coffee when the cellphone on your hip went off. You immediately stopped what you were doing to pick it up. Shocked, you found your boss’s name and number on the screen. You didn’t hesitate to hit ‘receive.’

Endeavor’s voice came loud and clear, even over the sounds of fighting.

“We need you over by Central Park. Takami’s new crew showed up, and we need your quirk to help round them up!”

“On my way, sir.”

Central Park was at least ten miles from your location. Even if you speed, you won’t make it there on time by car. Not this close to rush hour. Of course, you had other methods of getting to where you needed to go. You pried open the nearest window and lept threw it. Part of your hero costume involved strips of steel wire you could sling around with like that American comic book character. Sailing over the city and swinging in between buildings was much faster than any car. You arrived at the scene with the villains terrorizing civilians trying to enjoy their day at the park. You spotted three of them charging at you as soon as you hit the ground. They were nothing but mooks. Clustered together, it was quick work wrapping them in a bundle of wire. You spotted others and repeated the process. Keigo was nowhere in sight. You heard the sound of flames engulfing the trees. Pillars of red and blue flames shot up in the distance. You found heroes to take care of the villains you’d already captured before heading towards what should have been the epicenter of the fighting. Endeavor was busy with Dabi, and there seemed to be no other villains in sight. Still no sign of Keigo anywhere.

“Endeavor!”

You dodged a blue fireball just in time. You hoped that Endeavor would order you to go elsewhere. Five more minutes, and you’d be cooking in your costume.

“Takami headed west. I leave it to you to apprehend him!” Endeavor was so focused on his opponent that he didn’t turn towards you when he gave the order.

You had to dodge more flames, both Dabi’s and Endeavor’s, to head towards Keigo’s last known whereabouts. Away from the smoke and flames, you found a trail of red feathers. There was a moment where you stopped to wonder if Keigo had been injured and left behind some feathers by mistake or if he was deliberately mocking you. However, you didn’t have a moment to linger on that. You followed the trail of feathers regardless if it was a plot.

Keigo made it easy for you to follow. That should have been your first red flag. You were so focused on getting him in handcuffs that the apparent beeline to him was so fucking clear as day. You picked up the feathers as you went. You had a fistful in each hand by the time you reached the end of the park. Your trail went ice cold.

That is until you spotted the shadow of bird wings graze above you. Your head whipped to the sky. Hawks swooped down, nearly knocking you down to the ground. His wings grazed you. He perched himself on a branch far above you.

His appearance was vastly different from the last time you saw him. He wore an all-black suit with a red and gold tie. Pewter rings were on his fingers. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but his smile was the most unnerving thing about him. You lashed outwards with your arms, the metal from your gauntlets catching him by the ankles.

“Keigo Takami, you’re under arrest. You have the right to—”

Keigo didn’t let the mild impairment weigh him down. His wings couldn’t be easily held down by you. He flew straight towards you. His height never hid the fact that he was powerful. He plowed you into the ground. The wires unwhirled around his feet and let him soar above you.

“Get back down here, bird brain!” You lashed out your wires again in hopes of pulling him back down to earth.

Each time Keigo moves just a little bit out of reach. You already spent so much on capturing those D-level cronies that you didn’t stop to think of conserving your limited amount of iron wire. Keigo’s wings took him high above to where your weapon couldn’t reach him. He smirked down at you before taking off.

You ran after him, going so far as to hopping over the chain-link fence and following on foot. Your wires came in handy twice today as you soared from lamppost to lamppost, tracking Keigo’s aerial movements. Citizens yelled words of encouragement as you chased after Japan’s new most wanted criminal. The air stung your cheeks, and you could feel your eyes watering as you sped faster between rooftops.

Keigo made the mistake of flying to close to the building whose roof you just scaled. There was a split-second decision. You could stop and let him get away, or you could take the chance. You lunged for him, limbs scrambling through the air to find purchase. Your hands grabbed his suit jacket. Hauling yourself upon his back, you managed to secure your legs around him and put his neck in a headlock.

“As I said before, you’re under arrest!” You screamed as the wind busted your eardrums.

Keigo merely looked over his shoulder at you. His smile was cheeky as ever.

“Really, Princess? The way I see it…you’re the one at my mercy. Unless you got a plan to get us both safely on the ground without bashing our brains on the concrete.”

You growled as Keigo caught you. You didn’t think this far ahead.

You screamed as Keigo flew up towards the sun at lightning speed. Light burning your eyes, you had no choice but to shield them. Keigo used your distraction as the opportunity to shift your weight off his back. All too late, you felt your legs and arms loosen around him. Soon you were plummeting back to the ground. With any luck, your wires would find purchase on something and save you from falling to your death at the last minute. At the rate you were falling, good luck.

You were ten feet from meeting a concrete rooftop when Keigo reappeared. He wrapped you in his arms almost in a possessive manner.

“You’re way too pretty to let splatter. Come on. I’ve got a much better place to finish this!”

His clever hands worked your phone from your belt. Keigo dropped it on the ground, where it shattered several feet below you. Your only chance of survival was to let him take you where he wanted and not get your brains to plaster the sidewalk. His wings soared over the city. You once imagined being in his arms like this. It only made your stomach churn with the thought of what he was going to do to you once you were where he wanted you.

Keigo dropped down in the industrial district. Factories surrounded you. The smell of iron and diesel filled your lungs. But of all the places he picked, why did Keigo go where you had the most advantage? Didn’t he realize that with all of this metal, you were the one with the home-field edge? You didn’t have the time to ask or react when he pulled out the gun from his jacket.

In a flash, your life flashed in your mind. You didn’t stand there waiting to die. At least, you were going to make sure they say you died fighting to your last breath. You charged for Keigo, metal whips whirring to life.

BANG!

It was over. Except instead of sweet oblivion that came with death, you found yourself bleeding on the ground. Your blood pooled around your knee, where he shot you. The pain was exquisite as the bullet lodged itself in your knee cap. You weren’t going to be standing on that leg for a very long time; you could forget about fighting. Keigo’s black shoes came into your line of vision. From shock, you got onto your elbows to look at the bastard.

“What…the hell?” You ground your teeth. “I didn’t picture…you to be the sadist. Going to kill…me…slowly? Is that how you roll now?”

Keigo put his gun away. Then, he reached into the other side of his jacket. When his hand came away this time, he held a syringe.

“That was just to keep you from fighting me. I’m going to get you patched up real quick. Just as soon as I give you your medicine.”

Keigo was faster than you. Your hand shot up to grab him, but the needle was already in your neck. He squeezed the trigger and pumped you full of the drug. It took a few minutes for it to kick in. By the time he had you in his arms again, your head was spinning. A moment later, you finally found that oblivion you were looking for earlier. This time, you were reasonably sure you’d wake up this time, and you weren’t going to know where he was taking you. And that was the scariest thought you had before passing out in the former hero’s arms.

When you woke up, you noticed the stiffness in your leg. Your favorite color draped the bed you laid in. Your hero’s costume was gone and replaced with a negligee you wouldn’t own even if you had a boyfriend. It, too, was in your favorite color. The lace hem barely touched your upper thigh.

Further down, your right leg was held in a cast. Your foot rested on a pillow. As your vision cleared, you got a better picture of where you were.

It could have been described as a room if only it had more than one wall. Where plaster walls should have been, stood solid gold bars. The floors were marble tiles. There was a dresser, a desk, a lavish set up on a vanity, and a familiar coffee table on which sat a widescreen T.V. Every item in your cell was made of either wood, fiber, plastic, or metal you couldn’t bend, including the bars. Squeezed between the actual wall and the cell bars stood a small room. With its door closed, so you couldn’t discern its purpose yet. Footsteps came down the hallway. They rounded the corner. Keigo smiled at you like you were a pretty bird in his cage.

“You’ve been asleep for a while now. Doc had to give you an extra shot so you wouldn’t wake up in the middle of your surgery. Sorry I had to bust your knee cap. You can be so stubborn sometimes.”

“Why am I in a cage? Why am I dressed like this? Just what the hell are you on?” You started to get up from the bed, but it was difficult to swing your leg over the bed when it was in a cast.

“In reverse order,” said Keigo, “I’m not on any drugs. I thought you would look cute in that negligee, and it’s in your favorite color. I put you here for your protection, and honestly, you look damn good in it.”

“Why? Why the hell did you do any of this?” You still struggled to move your damn leg.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’d hate to come in there and show you why.”

His eyes held a glimmer of that charm you once fell for, but there was a predatory light that eclipsed it. Keigo leaned against the bars, stroking the beams.

“Solid gold. It took me a long time to find enough money and resources to build this thing. A pretty little cage for my pretty little bird.”

“Just how long have you been saving?” You wanted to know how long he had wanted to put you in here, yet you still dreaded his answer.

“A couple of years. My original idea was to take us on a cruise. It probably would have been much more romantic, but things come up. You change your plans. Ideals become tainted, and you have to find new ones.”

“What happened to you? You were the number two hero! Some so many people looked up to you. There are still people who believe that this is just a rouse to capture the League of Villains. How could you do that? How could you betray everyone’s trust?”

Keigo didn’t say anything. He held his head down as if lost in the thought. He braced his forearm against the bars as he leaned his head against his arm. Inhaling a long breath,

Keigo let out an aggravated sigh. When he looked up at you, you saw a different man. “Let me ask you this, Princess. How could somebody’s parents sell their kid to the government? How could anyone take a small kid and turn them into a child soldier? For what? So they can pat themselves on the back and say that they’re morally superior to the villains. They take kids from their parents and steal their childhood. And when those kids grow into adults and realize what a shitty system they were raised in, they stare up at you surprised that you had enough of their bullshit.”

“T-Takami…”

“I realized too late that everything that was supposed to be mine was taken from me. My family. My name. My childhood. For what? So I can be number two behind a man like Endeavor. Have you spent time with the bastard? I never noticed it before, but all of a sudden, it becomes clear that society cares less about a hero’s moral code and more about their ability to beat down the nail that sticks out. Ever wonder how his youngest got that scar?”

You nodded. You vaguely remember hearing Endeavor talk about his youngest son.

“It turns out Endeavor pushed his wife around so much that she went mental. She burned the side of Shoto’s face because it reminded her of the man who knocked her around and forced to have his four kids. Does that sound like hero material to you?”

Blood drained from your face. It made sense…in a way. You never met Endeavor’s youngest, so you couldn’t verify the truth or not. For all you knew, Keigo was pulling it out of his ass to make you sympathize with him.

“Why didn’t you go to the authorities? There must have been someone who would have investigated it.”

“By the time I found out, nobody would have believed me at any rate. Endeavor might be a bastard, but he’s still the number one hero. I’m just the rejected garbage the Safety Commission doesn’t want to clean up.” Keigo unlocked the door to your cage.

“Why are you telling me this then?”

Keigo crossed the “room” and picked you up from the bed. You couldn’t move your leg without feeling a jolt of pain go up to your thigh. There was no way for you to struggle. “Because I made a deal with the League. As long as I keep you by my side and you don’t go anywhere, they won’t touch you or your family. I’m afraid you won’t be seeing much of the outside world for a while. At least until Shigaraki accomplishes his goals.”

“You know he’s crazy, right?” You sneered.

“Yeah. Little bit. He’s also the first person who made any damn sense when I realized how badly they screwed me over,” said Keigo as he carried you down the hall.

There were a few rooms that he walked past, but he stopped at the end of the hall. He kicked it open. Your heart fluttered like you were his bride; he carried over the threshold. Your stomach churned with guilt rotting inside it. You shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts for the man who turned into a villain and kidnapped you. He confessed to planning to keep you as a prisoner for however long it took for that maniac Shigaraki to complete his mission.

Keigo brought you to an actual bedroom. It was a little more sparse than the cage he planned to keep you in. He must have spent more on you than himself. Looking around, the bedroom contained a giant bed and little else. He had you sit on the bed for a moment. Keigo pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows before gently grabbing you and laying you out. There was a contraption hanging from the ceiling that he pulled down using a thick cord. He slipped your leg into a sling and adjusted it to your comfort before Keigo left you to pull clothes from the dresser. He disappeared into the adjacent bathroom didn’t return until he was half-dressed in a pair of black sweatpants.

Small scars littered his chest and shoulders. From what, you dared not ask. You remembered his words about a stolen childhood to be raised as a soldier. You wondered if they were true. Your mind was plunged headfirst back into the present when Keigo crawled under the sheets with you. Your face went red.

“Relax, Princess. I’m not going to do anything,” he mumbled. He turned off the lights.

“Then why am I dressed like this?” You asked in the dark.

You felt Keigo’s weight make the bed dip. He settled on his side so he could snake his arm around your waist. He snuggled uncomfortably close, but he kept his hands mostly to himself or above the blanket.

“Because you look damn cute in (fave color). I like looking at you.”

His breath against your skin created goosebumps in its wake. Your eyes eventually closed to sleep. As you drifted off, you asked yourself: How long could you live like this?

                                                       ---080---

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

let’s tessellate

“let’s tessellate”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Zahra Auberel (WOC original character).

Summary: The White Wolf returns to his den, and his woman. A “reunion” ensues.

Warnings: NSFT/18+ - you should not be interacting with this fic if you are under the age of 18. Oral (f receiving), rough/possessive sex.

A/N: Please accept this humble PWP as an apology for vanishing from the Tumblrsphere. The world is still very much on fire, but I’ve missed y’all a bunch. I’m afraid I will no longer be providing a taglist - it’s stressful, and I honestly don’t want to. Best practice would be to make sure you get notifs when I post!

Thank you, dear hearts. Enjoy!

The lashing rain and wind has left the tavern utterly empty. One of those mindless summer storms, it cropped up almost without warning. The sky had darkened and gone deadly quiet as the air sat heavy; heavy, and so thick one could feel it settle on the skin. Zahra had let her people rush home when the last patron had scurried out the door – Lucja had just cleared the alley when the wind had picked up.

Thunder growls. Lightning splits the tumultuous sky asunder.

Zahra watches, smiling from the safety of the kitchens. She’s always loved storms like this – unbridled. Dangerous. She watches the crest of trees over the village rooftops; the canopy whips, bends. She counts the beats between the lightning and bellowing thunder. With a grin to herself, she pulls her light robe closer and takes the last walk around, locking the service door, then the heavy oaken door at the front of the tavern. The dying fire barely puts off enough light to see by, but she’s wandered this place in the dead of night for most of her life. Besides, each bolt of light from the storm makes it look like high noon.

One such bolt illuminates the main room when she turns towards the back door. The figure standing there is lit, clear as day – the barkeep shouts, and very nearly jumps out of her skin. “Gods dammit,” Zahra curses.

Pale, soft lips quirk up at one corner. Geralt is drenched to the bone, standing just inside the threshold and dripping on the flagstone. She glares at him as the lightning fades, giving his handsome face back to the shadows again.

“You are an asshole, Geralt,” she hisses. “I’m putting a fucking bell around your neck.”

“I’d like to see you try, love.”

His voice is a match to the deadly rumble that buzzes the thick window glass. It hums over her skin, doing very little to quell the startled tattoo of her heart. Nonetheless, she glowers, bare feet easing across the floor towards him. He lets her slip past him to lock the door.

“Oh, I’ll fucking-well do it,” she threatens, turning to face him. “Big, silver bell and gaudy, terrible silk ribbon.”

The Witcher lets out a low chuckle and though he almost hesitates, he lets her rests her hands on his waist. Zahra peers up at him in the near-dark and feels a thrill chase coolly down her spine. Geralt’s eyes are a deep, shining black and somewhat sunken in their sockets; bruise-colored veins creep down his cheeks. His skin is smooth and pale as fine parchment, while his frost-colored hair is plastered to his cheek with rain water. A silver-toned flash lights the room again and she can’t help the way her breath stalls. Gods.

He may not like it when she sees him like this, but he looks deadly and powerful and it arrows something base and wanton straight through her.

“Injured?” Zahra asks, breathier than she would like.

Black eyes stare. Geralt tilts his head, just so, but grunts once – a wordless ‘no’. He doesn’t shy away or dodge when she reaches for him, and her swift brown fingers carefully loosen the buckles and straps of his leathers. She keeps her eyes on his, muscle memory guiding her through the motions. The silence sits between them, heavy as the thick summer air and only broken by rain and thunder. Zahra feels sweat catch at her collarbone, her heartbeat drumming sharply behind her ribs. Each quick beat feathers heat through her- heat that settles low beneath her navel. It pulses there, a slick heaviness between her legs; she bites her lip and slides the last clasp open. The Witcher’s black eyes drop to her mouth.

“Your heart is pounding, little rabbit,” he rumbles, almost grinning when she drops her eyes. She hears the rustle of leather as he peels his gloves away. “What’s got you on edge?”

Zahra huffs out an embarrassed laugh.  The tension breaks – cut by her movement and the growling thunder. The armor finds its place on the hooks by the back door. Geralt tracks her with the single-minded focus of his moniker. The wolf sizing up his prey. The heavy, knowing press of his gaze makes her shudder.

“Let’s get you into dry clothes, hm?” she murmurs.

She brushes past him as the room is lit by the storm. Powerful fingers close on the back of her neck and she gasps, stumbling when Geralt tugs and spins her to face him. He doesn’t kiss her, not exactly, but she feels the press of his mouth over hers. She can feel the damp of his clothes soak through her robe, pebbling her nipples against the plane of his chest. His lips are cool with rain, though his breath rushes hot over her lips and Zahra feels her knees go a bit weak. Geralt snarls, matching the tone and timbre of the thunder.

“I asked you a question, Zahra,” he growls. His nose traces a chilly line up the heated curve of her cheek; she exhales on a breathless moan. “I can feel your pulse. I can smell you…”

Geralt’s fingers tangle in the loose curls at the nape of her neck. Lightning lets her see his pale, beautiful face, and the midnight dark of his eyes while he gives her hair a gentle, demanding tug. He fairly dwarfs her, lets his mouth tease over hers as he rumbles, “You like it, is that it? You like it when I come to you like this?”

He walks forward, forcing her back until she feels the blunted edge of a table against her backside. Zahra braces her hands on the smooth, cool wood.

“What is it?” he murmurs. She feels a tug – he looses the tie on her robe, parting the silken fabric with his free hand. “Hm? Why don’t you tell me why it gets you so hot?”

Calloused fingers twist around her nipple and Zahra gives a short gasp. “I don’t know,” she says with breathless mirth. “You look – oh gods – “

It’s hard to think – let alone speak – with his hand cupping her cunt. Her eyes drift close, lashes fluttering over her cheeks as Geralt slips a finger between her swollen lips, catching the slick on his fingertips before he draws delicate little circles over her clit. Zahra’s voice breaks on a whine.

“Geralt – “ she pleads. Deep brown eyes spring open, meeting lightning-lit black and she gasps out:

“You look dangerous.”

The thunder shakes the room as the Witcher’s mouth covers hers. It’s a biting kiss, greedy with teeth and tongue. He keeps the teasing pressure over her clit, rubbing with the tips of his fingers until her hips roll down to beg for friction. Zahra whimpers when he breaks away, only to utter a breathless curse as Geralt drags open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her throat. The shimmer silk fabric of her robe is yanked open – the fabric slips down her arms. His stubble scrapes harsh over her skin, down her neck, between the valley of her breasts – over the softness of her belly where his teeth dig in.

She moans his name – it makes him smile into her skin. “Fuck, I missed that,” he growls.

Geralt kneels and replaces his fingers with his tongue. Hot, wet – firm against her aching cunt, he pushes the blade of his tongue through her folds and growls at the slippery-sweet wetness he finds. Zahra keens.

The thunder drowns out the sound.

The insistent press of his mouth, the steady flicker of his tongue – they light up under her skin, making her squirm and cry with each crest of sensation. With one hand pressed to the table behind her, she lets the other fist tight in Geralt’s rain-damp hair. The wet strands stick to her palm, tangle around her fingers as she tugs. “Gods – fuck,” she hisses through grit teeth.

Geralt knows her tells, by now. He knows when to flick the tip of his tongue over her clit, when to dip into the clenching heat of her cunt. Her voices goes rough, breathless and needy, in a way that makes his cock throb in the confines of his trousers. When he feels her begin to shake, he gauges the tell-tale tremor of her strong thighs and lifts one over his shoulder. Two fingers press in – Zahra’s hips rock, the sensitive walls of her cunt bearing down hard around the intrusion as she pants. The Witcher’s low moan hums against her clit, pulling a ragged whine up from her throat.

“Geralt,” she groans. “Darling - love – please please please – “

The flickering lightning gives her just enough to watch. Geralt’s plays at supplicant, single-minded in his devotion, though he still looks the part of a god to her, even on his knees. His handsome face tips up towards her, soft mouth slick with her cum – his black, black eyes are hungry when he meets her gaze. The Witcher licks a heavy stripe through her, closing his mouth briefly around her clit to make her jump and swear before he pulls away to stand. Fingers still buried deep, he takes a gentle grip on her throat with his thumb running soft circles over her pulse point.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles when she shakes. The thunder plays at harmony with his voice. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

Geralt curls his fingers, strokes at that spot deep inside of her until she gasps. “Fuck me,” she whispers. “Geralt, please – “

Zahra hears him snarl in time with the thunder before he spins her. The silk of her robe pulls tight; Geralt uses the fabric to pinion her arms. His breath is harsh against her naked shoulder. With the racket of the rain, she doesn’t quite hear the sound of buttons sliding free, but then she feels the hot press of flesh and the beautiful, aching stretch. The Witcher gives a low moan into her skin, somewhere between relief and ecstasy.

He pulls his fingers through her curls at tugs. The motion arches her back into an obscene curve, forcing his cock so deep that Zahra shouts. It feels like the storm has taken up residence under her skin – lightning hisses from nerve to nerve. Geralt spears her wide open, somehow quelling the desperate ache while adding to it exponentially.

“Okay?” he pants into her ear.

“Yes – fuck yes,” she laughs, breathless and trembling.

She can feel his smug grin against her neck. Geralt flexes his hips, drawing the length of his cock out and then pushing back in to the hilt, making them both hiss. His rhythm rises and falls with the wind – with the torrential rain – and she is swept away by the tempest. He fucks into her with hard, greedy strokes that push her hipbones into the blunt edge of the table until she knows there will be bruises. The hand in her hair stays taught, but the hand holding the robe slips, pressing palm-down on the table by her hip. Damp, lightning-spiked air drags through her lungs as she gasps, moaning and pleading as Geralt murmurs against her temple.

Depraved, and sweet – possessive; he tells her how much he’s missed her, missed her sweet little cunt – fuck – missed how good she feels. “So good, sweetheart,” he moans. “So good for me – fucking perfect.”

The desperate whine that trickles up from her throat only serves to stoke the fire in his belly. She’s starting to shake, and whimper, voice climbing in pitch and volume to pierce over the howling wind. Geralt tugs at her hair, forces her to crane her head and meet the solid black of his eyes. He feels the flutter of her muscles around his cock, a desperate pulsing that drags a pitched snarl out of him before he presses his mouth to her jaw.

“Come for me, Zahra,” he snarls. “Come on - give it to me, sweetheart - “

Lightning fires off, storm cloud to storm cloud. Thunder snarls.

Her ragged scream clashes with the raging storm.

Geralt fucks her through the blinding orgasm until she feels him press tight against her back, frozen in his own pleasure while he pulses inside of her. He whispers his homily into her skin, chanting her name, filling her deep. The rapid beat of Zahra’s heart echoes in his ears. He grips her close, winds his arms around her torso ‘til that rhythm begins to slow. Carefully, he withdrawals, trying not to smirk when he hears her sharp inhale. Geralt tucks himself back into his trousers before burying his face into the fall of Zahra’s hair.

“‘Dangerous’,” he mutters, then chuckles. “Fucking hell, Zee…”

She giggles, sweetly winded, then squirms until the Witcher lets her turn in his grasp. She’s a sight. Soft brown skin dewy with sweat and shameless in her nudity. The smile she gives him settles somewhere between sweet and utterly filthy – it spikes heat straight through him all over again. Her clever fingers wrap around the chain of his medallion.

“I told you, Geralt of Rivia – you don’t scare me.”

She kisses him slowly. Savors the soft give of his mouth and licks the taste of herself from his tongue. Geralt’s hands ghost over her sides, palms pressing into soft, warm flesh. His teeth catch over the sweet fullness of her lip and he grins when she shivers.

“I love you, woman,” he mumbles against her lips.

Zahra draws back with a soft, but wicked grin. “I love you, Witcher,” she purrs back. “Now… take me to bed, hm?”

Geralt growls. “Yes, ma’am.”

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb Ch 9 - One Question

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary: Clarity broke over you swiftly, and you yelled, howled at him that you were here, but your wailing died away in gusts of wind so powerful you could barely remain upright. You waved your arms and jumped to get his attention., but it was futile. If you ran from here, you’d lose your vantage point; and then, you wouldn’t know what happened. Rooted to the ground, you watched in horror.

There was a hanging moment of absolute silence as they took aim along a dueling line. Your ears rang, and your head pounded. It was an absence you knew, the aftermath of a bomb, but one that hadn’t yet become. Your red eyes, shot through with terror, widened as the Galaxy’s idols launched themselves at one another.  You crouched down, clamped shaking hands over your ears, and watched it unfold.

Author’s Note: Special thanks to @badtour​ for their allowing me to use an idea they had about how God Kylo looks. :) I truly hope you are enjoying this random work from my brain, and thanks for hanging in w/ me.

Content Note: Talk of pregnancy, dub-con/hypnosis

***

Sunlight slithered over your legs and belly, warming you. The gentle grass you lay upon, the balmy air around you turned the world into a snug blanket. You crept back from somnolence, pushed into dreams by the nighttime chill and drawn from them by this streaming light. You stretched, arms overhead and arched up like a feline. 

You wiggled your fingers into soft blue-green grass and looked out over a vista as perfect as you’d ever seen. This was the sort of place Nona called holy, a church carved out of the planet-side to remind people of their place in the Galaxy. You could bring her here. She would find the highest peak, kneel upon the hallowed ground, and lift her arms to the sky in prayer.

Wind chimed quietly. Leaves danced. Flowers perfumed the air.

Blissful.

Abruptly, black lightning fractured the perfect cerulean sky; and behind it, a swarm of charcoal clouds strangled the formerly tranquil horizon and blotted out the sun. A boulder lodged in your belly, the core of your being knowing something was very, very wrong.

Despite all logic, you leapt to your feet and ran towards the disturbance, using the fearsome flashes as your compass.  That is where the event touched down, and that is where you needed to go. You darted through whipping branches. Plush sod gave way to jagged rocks. Docile and lovely became haggard and harsh.

You came upon the cliff so abruptly you skidded to a stop and crashed to the ground in the attempt to not vault over its side. From your high perch, you saw them and gaped at the absolute madness.

Glowing streaks of red and blue clashed thunderously, sending violet arcs erupting upwards to be swallowed by the falling ash and debris. In a deliberate, deadly dance, one angelic, angular face chased his mirror image. Blinking hard, your mind whirred. You knew why they were here, why they were angry, but you couldn’t remember it. They shouted and raged, punched and swung their vicious blades at one another without ever gaining the advantage.

Perfectly matched, they spun together in destructive harmony. It was an eerie…

Balance.

Clarity broke over you swiftly, and you yelled, howled at him that you were here, but your wailing died away in gusts of wind so powerful you could barely remain upright. You waved your arms and jumped to get his attention., but it was futile. If you ran from here, you’d lose your vantage point; and then, you wouldn’t know what happened. Rooted to the ground, you watched in horror.

There was a hanging moment of absolute silence as they took aim along a dueling line. Your ears rang, and your head pounded. It was an absence you knew, the aftermath of a bomb, but one that hadn’t yet become. Your red eyes, shot through with terror, widened as the Galaxy’s idols launched themselves at one another.  You crouched down, clamped shaking hands over your ears, and watched it unfold.

They were the bomb, and their fierce clash exploded outwards with enough energy to blast the mountain, and its cliff, apart.

You flew backwards, slammed into a falling tree by an unstoppable force. It tore asunder massive trunks and blasted through rock faces as old as they. It sent earthquakes to shake the foundation of the world and ripped a gash in the planet that plummeted straight to its core.

It loosed a gargantuan mountain slide careening straight at that molten tomb, with you trapped in it. You clawed at roots and dirt, desperate to find something solid, but there was no escaping the monstrous maw. It sucked everything around you in, leaving you only able to scream.

You jolted awake on a panicked shout.

Petrified, wild eyes darted left, right, and center until your brain registered the details of where you were versus where it believed you to be. Not outside. Inside. Not a mountain. Throne room. Not disappearing into a volcano. Hosnia. You curled fingers into the velvet fur you’d slept upon for days, using it to ground yourself.

You could still smell the char and the mud. Your eyes stung from the debris hanging in the air in the wake of a decimated sky. Your throat scratched and complained, tired from all the screaming.

A touch at your back shot another yell from your dry mouth, but the fingers that delivered it wrapped around your wrist, tugging you from your rigidity. You didn’t want to look, uncertain if this was still part of the dream, but you dared a glance over your shoulder and exhaled, relieved.

He lay with one long arm tucked beneath his head, bare chested and haphazardly covered by a silken blanket. His raven hair tousled in a way you didn’t get to see often, and it lent him an almost leisurely look. It was hard to be sure, but he looked... relaxed.

You couldn’t move, not even to bend back to him the way he wanted, and an entertained smirk danced upon his plump, nearly pink lips. Shifting, he found a sensitive spot between your ribs, one he enjoyed thoroughly, and pressed his mouth there, murmuring something against the skin that you couldn’t make out.

He’d kept you on this floor for days, destroying your nest, and you, again and again. He said your recent menses would be your last, and he seemed determined to scoop its very last remnants from inside you. He worked you with his fingers, his tongue, his always ready cock, and you knew to your bones it would be like this until his seed took hold.

He always disliked it when you didn’t respond, and both of his powerful arms circled around your middle and pulled you into his lap. He tucked your knees to either side of his hips and molded you to his marble torso. You tried to pull away, the burn in your hips uncomfortable.  You were also too aware of the dried blood, filth, and sweat that stained you, but he cinched hard around you until you sat still.

You ached from hair to toes. He’d used you so thoroughly your entire body was heavy, and you folded dead arms against him and pressed your forehead to his sculpted shoulder.

“Where did you go?”

Your voice was small, unsure. He’d silenced each attempt you’d made to ask him about his time away with a tongue down your throat or a fucking so rough you could do little but hiccup and shout. His fingers dug into your spine, eliciting a wince, but you waited quietly, hoping that maybe this time would be different.

When nothing came, you tried again. You could be dissatisfied with his lack of response, too.

“Did you go to see Solo?”

His pectorals tightened, and you lifted your head. His beautiful mouth pressed into a firm line of what you knew to be annoyance, but his bodily reaction was, itself, an answer. You searched his turbulent eyes before following the trail of his scar down from his forehead.

“Is he…like you? Real?” You swallowed, uncertain of what you even wanted to ask. “Did you kill him?”

He still didn’t answer, but he also didn’t cast you off, leading you to wonder if you hadn’t asked the right question yet. Hesitantly, you brushed your fingertips along the scar’s tail, unexpectedly understanding what made it. You might have dreamed it, but you knew Solo carried a weapon counter to The Ren’s blood red blade. And it was blue.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” You wondered, for a split second, how one went about killing a god; but in all the universe, he was the only one capable of doing so.  Having seen the expressions of his anger, you believed him willing to do it, too. “What happens to the universe now? Won’t that upset the Balance?”

It was one question too many.

Grasping your upper arms painfully, he unceremoniously cast you off of his lap and onto the floor. On autopilot, you scrambled away, putting a scant amount of space between yourself and his ire. He had no compunction about hurting you, punishing you, and he leveled you with such a look your insides withered.

That’s when you noticed it.

At the edges, he tapered into wisps of nothing; but it was so odd a thing, you couldn’t be sure you saw it correctly. Furrowing your brow, you focused on the sculpt of his calf. You watched the reality of him, the absoluteness of his body, flicker as though he was little more than a tangible spectre. 

“What did he do to you? What…” You inched forward, eyes fixed upon his clenched fist and the way it appeared to ripple in and out of existence. “Did you do that to him?”

“Enough!”

The cosmic boom in his voice shoved you back, had you shrinking away from him. As you always did. You never could leave well enough alone. He turned on you so quick you fumbled, your escape hampered by the pile of blankets and sheets you used to make your nest.

“Traitor.” He snatched you up by his jagged collar, dangling you in the air like a rag doll. “One touch has you so eager for his bed? Think if you ask for him enough, he’ll come for you? Hm?”

He threw you so hard, you smashed into the wall across the room and slumped to the floor in a broken heap. Fat tears collected at the corners of your eyes, but you fought to keep them from spilling. Your tongue grew thick with each heavy breath expelled through trembling lips.

“Did you spend these days pretending I was him? That you would bear the Light Bringer’s child instead of a bastard darkling?”

“No!” You quaked, feeling the icy tendrils of disappointment dampen your very soul. “I’m just trying…” 

You shook your head in defeat and let the rest of the thought drop away. It didn’t matter. He would never think of you as more than a petulant human who would never live up to his expectation.

“You’re weak.” He spat on the floor at your feet, making his disgust painfully clear. “An idiot girl trying to know eternity at the end of a god’s dick. Go, then. See if you can find Solo; see if you find what you want to know in his bed.”

The way he spoke to you, the way he all but called you a whore, enkindled courage in your gut. You lifted a new gaze to him, one born of defiance and a will you’d forgotten you had. Having spent so long mired in loss and pain and fear, you felt as though you didn’t remember this person, this strength you used to have. Biting down on your lip hard enough to leave teeth marks, you looked at the black marble floor.

“I’m trying,” you gritted the words out, pushing up to your knees, “To know YOU.”

You got to your feet but shrieked in pain and collapsed. Your feet stung, and you found scores of lacerations marking the tender flesh. You’d been so wrapped up you’d assumed the soreness and aching was from him, from the way he hardly let you sleep these last few days.

But you found bruises that even his insistent fingers could not have made. Mingled in with the discoloration at your sides, there were fresh, deep gouge marks as though you’d been dragged through hell. Your fingertips were raw and blistered, and your backside was too tender to sit upon even a moment longer.

He, too, seemed to just notice your pathetic state and stepped closer as you pushed to your feet again. Steeling yourself against the discomfort, against the splintering shooting up your bones, you glowered at him, half snarling.

“Get away from me.” You bristled and took a step back, then another, and another. It was little more than a hobble, but you remained upright. A victory. “Gods! All I’ve been trying to do is know you. Because you’re it, aren’t you?” You ignored his derisive huff and balled your hands into fists, matching the way his always tightened when you were around. “You’re the only other person in this whole damn land, and I go out of my mind when you’re not here.”

His face changed; it was barely perceptible, the infinitesimal tempering of his clenched jaw, but you’d seen his irritation enough to spot the difference. You snorted; too little too late. Emboldened, you took yet another step back with a determination you now had that you didn’t before.

“But fine. I will be your idiot girl, your foolish infant that you don’t have to talk to. I will fulfill my end of our deal, and I will bear your rotten child. But you…” You practically vibrated, filled to the brim with some kind of meanness and upheaval that edged dangerously close to heartbreak. “You stay the hell away from me otherwise.”

Before you could lose your nerve, you turned and fled.

You knew you wanted to run, but you didn’t know where you were going. You had no clear destination in mind, but you needed to get away from his spitefulness and inability to feel anything other than malice. With each foot you put between you and him, though, your spirit sunk more and more. It was as though running from him sapped you of all strength, of life, and it made you angry.

You felt more tied to him now than ever before. He hadn’t simply enslaved you with this sacrilegious neck piece; he’d bound you to him by blood, by spit and seed. You were utterly his prisoner.

Exhausted, miserable, and injured, you ducked into one of the many rooms and leaned against the wall for stability. The gentle lap of water against stone drew your gaze, and you nearly whispered a prayer of thanks. It was his bath, his enchanted water that would somehow heal your wounds. You idly wondered if it would also heal your womb from whatever damage his cursed spend would cause.

All you had to do was make it there.

You shoved your fists into bloodshot eyes to staunch the tears and shuffled towards the oversized basin in the floor on wobbly legs. Everything hurt; even your teeth throbbed. You’d known some variation of discomfort every day of your time here, be it cold, ripped cunt, split lips, aching joints, inch-long thorns. The results of a landslide, however, made those moments but fuzzy memories.

At the ledge, you skittishly dipped your toes into the water until they scraped the first step. You eased your weight onto that foot and lowered in the other to share the load. A relieved sigh worked its way through you. Overcome at the slight measure of solace, you practically curled into it. Your shoulders dropped, the apprehension beginning to drain away. 

The bath truly was a miraculous thing. It anticipated your needs and wants and changed itself to suit. Sometimes, it was shallow throughout so you could sit and hug your knees. Other times, it sloped to a deeper end to allow you to wade out and tread water. On certain occasions, like today, there was no bottom. It was an inky abyss, placid yet slick as oil.

Bit by bit, you lowered yourself into the palliative pond, letting it envelop you and draw you down into its depths. Laden with weariness and sorrow, you sunk below the surface, suspended in this womb that kneaded your limbs and swaddled you tight to ease your discomfort. You succumbed to the way the water vacillated between comfortingly warm and invigoratingly cold.

Closing your eyes, you pictured the wounds at your arm and thigh also healing, imagining that you would drown without his spell. In a dark recess of your heart, you wished for it, welcomed it. But that release did not come.

Sullen, but healed, you broke the surface and moved to the bathtub’s side. Your feelings dulled, and you folded your arms on the damp floor and laid your head in that cradle, sniffling and working to calm your anxiety.

Too soon, the quiet shattered, stolen by the very first thief of night.

You felt him enter the room. An inkling flitted across your mind, and you decided it was an apt description. He moved as silent as the grave, plaguing these halls without so much as a soft thud for a footstep. His presence, his infection of a room, was undeniable. He stole what little ambient warmth there was and replaced it with intensity, this ever-present undertone of desire and demand.

The air crackled around him. You thought if you were quiet enough, still enough, you could hear the molecules popping.

It was the definition of his existence. He took things you knew and turned them inside out. He wasn’t emotional himself; he roused you to feeling for him by ramping up your heartbeat. He wasn’t calm, despite his so-often flat affect. His inner turmoil always roiled beneath the surface, like bees trapped under a gauzy curtain, but he soothed you with his solidity. 

He was unbreakable; and as long as he kept you around, you couldn’t break either. He wouldn’t allow it.

He stepped in, disrupting the water’s serenity with his mass. The structure reacted to him more than you, and you felt the tub subtly oscillate as it changed for him. It was of little consequence, though. Even if it created a floor for him to walk on, you still wouldn’t reach it. So gone were you to frayed nerves and scorn, you didn’t even budge.

“Come here.”

His fingers skimmed your spine, a gentle gesture meant to placate you and draw you out of your cocoon. When you didn’t move, he stepped behind you, barely grazing your skin with his, and placed both hands on the ledge on either side of you. He was overwhelming, and your heart skipped into an uneven tempo even as you stubbornly fought to stay angry.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

“Turn around, little lamb.” His voice softened, deepened, now that he was closer to your ear. Stoic, you turned your face away, giving him nothing but the back of your head. “Please.”

The word was electric, igniting something inside you’d forgotten about. Your pupils dilated with yearning, blowing black as his hypnosis returned to haunt you.

It was wicked and cruel and thoroughly effective. He didn't need to hurt you; he only needed to speak.

Your ribs seized, unable to make room for the shocked gasp that dropped open your mouth. Your skin sizzled, and your pussy convulsed. You salivated, your tongue readying your throat to receive him. Seeking some kind of relief, you crushed suddenly swollen and aching breasts against the cool tile. Your hips twisted, thighs squeezing together to quell the quiver. His hand on your hip had you whimpering. Unable to stop, you rubbed your ass back against him when he dipped his mouth into the curve of your neck.

His long arm slid around you, palm rubbing a claiming trail down from your hip directly between your legs. He cupped your sex and used it as leverage to pull you against him even more. You wanted him to fill you, to spread and break you apart now that you’d healed, but you ground your jaws together and kept your eyes closed. Pleading with him, admitting defeat, wasn’t something you were prepared to do.

That’s exactly what he wanted. 

He whispered it a second time, and the word slammed against your brain, battering your willpower. He wanted you mindless and panting, begging to be filled. You remembered the way he looked when he first said it. The outright debauched gleam in his shining eyes, the lewd way he licked his lips as you contorted beneath him, every immaculate detail etched into an indecent painting you’d pay homage to forever, even if he despised you. 

Undeterred, he nipped at your neck and pushed his hard length between your buttocks and slippery labia to nudge at your tingling clit. He used his fingers as a barrier, keeping his dick firmly wedged in your mess. You were rapidly losing your wits and mewled childishly when he withdrew unhurriedly and rocked forward again so slowly you wanted to curse.

It was a matter of time before you gave him what he wanted. You’d give up your very sanity if it meant he kept touching you this way. The way he nibbled along the craggy circumference of his collar, the possessive grip he kept on your cunt, the relentless, steady pace he set — All of it drove you mad until you did the very thing you decided you wouldn’t.

“Please...” 

Needy and writhing, you didn’t care about your principles anymore. It didn’t matter that you were angry with him. You knew you couldn’t say you were sorry; he’d called you on that too many times before. And you couldn’t say you didn’t mean it because you did. Everything would be easier if he fucked you and then forgot about you. But you couldn’t go back to him pretending you didn’t exist until he did the deed, until he humiliated you enough to sate his ego.

“Guh! Please!” 

He purred against your topmost vertebrae, satisfied that he’d rendered you a wrecked and willing thing.  Indignant, a version of what he wanted, one you could live with, jumped up to the tip of your tongue without your brain’s involvement. 

“Just fuck me and get it over with.”

He stopped moving completely. The water lapsed into a dead calm. Always in a rush to prove him right, you lit the fuse and waited for obliteration. 

You chewed the inside of your cheek, telling yourself it would be fine. Surely, you could endure his hate fucking. You could withstand a few minutes of exquisite torture for his cause. He wouldn’t kill you because it wouldn’t serve his purpose, but he’d taken all of your effort to be here with him and tossed it out. He went out of his way to prove you meant nothing at every turn; and in doing so, he doused the torch you carried for him. 

Doubt and blackness wrapped you up like a shroud. He didn’t want to know you, and he didn’t want you to know him. It panged at your heart, but you accepted it. You’d cried for days when you thought he wasn’t coming back, and you clung to him with everything you had as he pinned you to the floor again and again when he returned. But he felt nothing for you.

You were a means to an end.

Fingertips you expected to flay apart your sides wrapped around your rib cage and lifted you. It was unsettling, the almost gentleness of his touch. He dislodged your hold on the wall and turned you to face him, letting your weight sag when he had you right where he wanted. You looked away when he trapped your chin in a chiding grip and turned your face forward. You wouldn’t - couldn’t - look at him. It would shatter your belief that you could be nothing more than his unfeeling pawn.

“One question,” he said.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth over your mouth and regarded you evenly when your surprised eyes peeked up. His free hand hooked under your knee and guided your leg around his broad hip, and it didn’t occur to you to argue. You stared, mesmerized by his kaleidoscope eyes and the sexy way fat drops of water amplified his lovely eyelashes.

Abandoning your gaping mouth, he turned the collar around on your throat until the thing he was after sat right above your pulse. You knew what it was without having to look. There was one peak in the jade that was sharper than the rest. You woke up every day to new punctures and scratches from sleeping on it. Your heart stopped beating. He would break it. Or, he would use it to pierce your jugular. You’d gone too far, and he meant to send you away. One too many failures. One too many challenges.

Nothing could have prepared you for what he did next.

He pushed the pad of his thumb against the molded thorn and lifted it to his mouth. He licked away the bright red smear, and you gawked, thunderstruck. Squeezing forth another drop, he swiftly pushed the digit into your mouth before you could object. You groaned and curled your fingers into his shoulders as the flavor exploded in your mouth. It was something you knew so well — a candy unlike any you’d ever known before coming here, but one he treated you to daily.

Your brain misfired, sending a contraction signal to every muscle. Brow knit tight, you bit down on his knuckle and moaned pitifully. This act, this offering, was an admission. He had been feeding you his blood, drop by lone drop, and he offered you this kernel of knowledge in his unique, primitive way. Pulling his digit free, he led your face to his for the sort of scorching kiss one gave a long-lost lover. It was firm lips and a velvet tongue, and it almost made you believe he cared.

“Pay attention.” He hummed it against the corner of your mouth and maneuvered you so both legs hugged his waist. Reaching around you, he lined himself up and speared your cunt with the rounded head of his cock. He pushed your hips down, sheathing himself inside of you agonizingly slow. “One question, lamb.”

You whined, head falling back, chest heaving. You never got used to his size. He was long and wide, and your pussy twinged each time he stretched you to the point of tearing. This time, his fingers dug in, and he left deep moons in the meat of your ass. He buried his face into your wet hair and growled as he bottomed out. He enjoyed plundering your body to its very limits, loving the way you had to work to accommodate his size. You tried to obey, to concentrate, wracking your brain for a suitable question. He bent to bathe your sternum with kisses, though, and worked you up and down on his cock in such a way you forgot to even blink.

Your mind raced from thought to thought. There was no way to tell if you’d ever get this chance again. The question had to be worth it. Somehow, you knew he would answer whatever you asked. It might have been the look in his eye or the way he didn’t break your teeth for daring to talk back, but you knew he would answer.

Why am I not hungry? Does Sky Walker exist? Did you kill your brother? Why can’t I leave? What is the red saber you carry when you reap? Do you ever take a vacation? Why do you wear that mask? Who are the men who go with you? Are they dead? Are you dead? What happens to me after all of this? Where do the dead go? Is there really such a thing as Balance? Why do you call this place Hosnia? Is it different from Chandrila?

From that chaos, one thought rose above the rest, louder and more crucial than anything you’d ever wanted to know before. You had it - the question worth asking.

You looked up to find him studying you intently. That shimmer at his seams was more pronounced, and your eyes traced one otherworldly filament to nothingness. Your heart hammered, and you touched his fresh scar again, hoping against hope that this blurring wasn’t the last vestige of their war. If he was gone, who would fill the empty husk of you now that he’d hollowed you out for his own intent?

Your name drew you back, nearly lost to the water that sloshed with his every stroke. The current of it amplified his surging weight against you, pinning you for his dissection. You held your breath, eyes fluttering closed on a particularly good thrust, but he nudged your nose with his until you opened your eyes on him again.

The world you knew was about to change irrevocably. Mashing your lips together for a second’s more bravery, you committed to it. Whatever came next would, undoubtedly, alter your existence here in Hosnia, but you pressed on. 

Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

“What’s your name?”

[the-wintershade]

crossfire | thor odison

pairing: thor x reader summary: humans are fragile, oh so fragile. wc: 912 genre: angst

Angry rivers of lightning spill through the sky. You flinched, expecting a boom that would surely follow. 

“Calm down!” Thunder cracked through your voice and you pushed to be heard through a storm of his making. “Thor! I know you’re angry! I know they took everything away from you, but you can’t do this! You’ll kill people, good people!” 

“You know NOTHING!” His hammer slammed against the ground, splitting the earth in two. Rage saturated every syllable, coating it in fury, coating it in vengeance. 

None of it was him. Every part of it was wrong. 

The ground violently cracked and you dove out of its reach. A chasm lay in the wake of your original position. 

A redwood tree, rich with history and age, split in two. Half of it hurtled down the void; the other, hanging limp without its other half. 

Gasping, you tried to pull yourself back in focus. The tree didn’t matter, neither did the crack on the earth’s shell, all that mattered was him and bringing him piece of mind. 

Back in Asgard, his home would be full of gods and mythological beings, all well equipped to handle various kinds of powers and gifts. 

This was earth. Humans were fragile, breakable, shatter-prone. You were just trying to make sure they’ll remain in one, interconnected piece. 

Your voice turned hoarse while battling the wind but you raised it over the gale, even when it became dry and brittle — as fragile as your human body. 

“You’re right!” You reasoned, turning your cheek against the storm. “I don’t understand!” Choking, gasping, your breath left you. “But—help me! H-help me...under—understand!”

He turned, eyes an electric blue and seeming to burn the longer you stared at them. You the full force of his anger, uncontrolled and reckless, pressed against you through the strain and pain on his face. 

“As if you could.” His eyes softened, only for a moment, before anger coated them with rage. “You’ve never lost a brother, lost a piece of your soul to the terror of a million realms. Never stood by and watched in pain — in agony — while the life of your kin SLIPS THROUGH YOUR FINGERS!” He screamed and slammed his hammer down again. 

The chasm widened. You crawled as best as you could manage away from its cracking claws. 

“Thor! Thor, these people,” you gasped, your throat constricting. “These mortals are not responsible for your agony, your sadness! Do not punish them because of it!” 

You watched the war on his face, the fluttering of emotions on his face, all battling it out for the top spot. 

You took your opportunity. 

Scrambling off the ground, you hurtled — no, flew as fast as your legs could carry you — into him. Your arms encircled his front and you buried your face in his crimson cape. 

His sobs were evident now and you pressed as close as you could. “I know.” You sighed, keeping your voice as delicate as possible. “I know. I’m sorry. So sorry.”

You didn’t realize you were a good fifty feet away from him until you pieced together your hair whipping against your face, snapped roughly by the angry gale. 

Your body spasmed, squirmed, violently buzzed with volts of electricity shooting through your veins. 

You couldn’t see. It felt like your eyes were in the back of your head. 

In his highly emotional state, he’d discharged electricity into your body. It flared up again so fast, he didn’t realize it until it was too late. 

Lightning ceased across the sky. Thor no longer screamed. Someone called your name. 

“Gdsefv?” Footsteps. What’s happening? “Fsjifv?” Your head explodes with the heat of a thousand suns. “(Y/n)!” 

A sensation registered near your cheek but your shaking didn't stop. You couldn’t pull your eyes from the darkness they were trapped in. You couldn’t open your mouth to scream. 

You couldn’t tell what was happening. Your head pounded and you couldn’t feel your feet or your hands. The numbness was spreading, feeling like an ice cold liquid solidifying your limbs. 

You didn’t want to die. Not like this. There was so much to do, so much to say, so much to—

“No..no. Look at me.” You tried but a mangled sound of pain was all the response you could manage. “What have I done?” A pressure rested against your forehead, a warm breeze touched your nose. 

You tried to speak but your tongue—your mouth—your lips, nothing worked. The liquid ran its course and next up would be your brain. 

You forced a breath through your teeth and he gripped your hand. Blue eyes, full of remorse and sadness searched your frustratingly blank ones. 

The shaking stopped, your eyes now free from their prison, but you could express nothing. 

Humans are just too fragile. You were no exception. 

You tried to squeeze your hand, to tell him you’re still here, to tell him you’re still with him, that you forgive him and to tell him to forgive himself. 

But you couldn’t. 

You moved your lips upward. Only one corner moved but it didn’t matter; it was enough. 

Emotion displayed clearly on your face. You just hoped he could read it all. 

The cold reached your brain and you braced for your sad, bittersweet end. He cradled you by the back of your neck — you couldn’t feel it but you knew, even without seeing it — always so sweet — “I -”

[crossroadsfossil]

King of cats & the possessed forest

Summary: Hawks had foreseen a thousand different ways for this night to go, but not once in any of those scenarios did he picture flying with Dabi through the air being chased by something that set off his prey instincts. He'd expected the night to be bad - why else would Dabi request a meeting two nights before one of the lesser conjunctions? As if the days before a full moon weren't bad enough on their own.

prompt: Cat, warm, fear

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Sort Of, Witch!Fuyumifolklore, adjacent nonhuman Dabi, nekomata!Dabi, angry lighting dogs, Hawks and dabi are in the wrong place at the wrong time, wacky hijinks, Folklore and quirks, what could go together better

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

The city seemed to thrum with the night, the lights pulsing slightly as the moon crept across the sky. Another a few days and all both of the moons would be aligned with some of the outer planets. It was driving the city mad and kicking up all sorts of figurative and literal storms. If Hawks had to deal with another ‘murder or animal sacrifice’ case with the police he was going to take that vacation time he had been threatening to use. By now he should have about two months of it saved up. Plenty to wait out this upcoming nightmare storm.

The city seemed to thrum with the night, the lights pulsing slightly as the moon crept across the sky. Another few days and all both of the moons would be aligned with some of the outer planets. It was driving the city mad and kicking up all sorts of figurative and literal storms. If Hawks had to deal another ‘murder or animal sacrifice’ case with the police he was going to take that vacation time he had been threatening to use. By now he should have about two months of it saved up. Plenty to wait out this upcoming nightmare storm.

A pack of cats darted across the street, slinking around the edges of the streetlamps. Hawks raised a hand in greeting, seeing several of the animals pause. Their strange heterochromatic eyes flashed in the dim light. Tails flicked in his direction, an almost wave from the clutter of cats, then they began to move on. Only one stayed behind, waiting until their companions were half a block away before it stood on its hind legs. Hawks grinned and waved harder. The cat dropped into an elaborate bow before falling to all fours and almost trotting to catch up to the others.

“It’s not wise to be on such familiar terms with Old Tom.” A voice rasped near Hawks’ elbow. He glanced down. At first glance, it looked like one of the cats from the pack, but he knew better than to assume he piebald at his heels was a member of that courtly clutter. This cat had something the others didn’t: a second tail that twined about the first one, occasionally untangling to lash back and forth.

“Dabi.” Hawks greeted, lifting a wing so the nekomata could curl under it. A moment later there was a sound like the echo of a sneeze and a tall, lanky young man sat under his wing. Hawks rolled his eyes and lifted it higher. He had been expecting a chat with the cat, not the man.

The man shot him a sharp smile and leaned into his space obnoxiously.

“Hawks.” Dabi purred back. “I’m serious, you shouldn’t be so friendly with the king of cats. The Tildrums and the Toldrums aren’t very nice.”

That caused Hawks to laugh, giving Dabi a gentle shove. He hoped it’d keep the cat out of his space a little longer, but all it seemed to do was goad Dabi into getting even closer. He felt claws digging into a shoulder as Dabi threw an arm around him.

“Neither are you, but I don’t mind your company.” Hawks replied. Part of him wanted to ask about the names the cats wore, if there was any significance to using the same four or six over and over again. He knew none of the kings were related to each other, so perhaps it was a title? Although he had known the current king of cats since they were a kitten (not that Dabi needed to know that), and they’d always had that name. Did cats come into this world already knowing their name?

Then again, Dabi was a nekomata, not a proper cat, so he might not know. Dabi let out a contemplative rumble, not quite a purr but also not a growl either, staring up at the moons above like Hawks had been doing before he’d gained company.

“How’s the rest of the colony?” Hawks finally asked. Dabi snorted, lip twitching up in an aborted snarl.

“Quit calling the league that.”

“Well, stop acting like a group of colony cats and I might.”

“I swear to the gods, Hawks- I will-” Dabi’s voice cut off as they were both illuminated in bright, almost yellow light.

Light arced in the near distance, dancing over rooftops and fracturing like lightning through cracked glass. Both Hawks and Dabi tensed, watching as it slowly coalesced into something vaguely dog-shaped. Bright eyes latched onto Dabi. Immediately the nekomata shifted back, skin melting back into fur, his hackles raised high. A low yowl starting up, sounding just as much like a cat as it did like something distinctly other. The creature was too far away to hear the warning, but it cocked its head as if it could.

Shit.

Raiju weren’t common here and if one was stumbling about, it was because something, or someone, summoned it. Hawks really, really hated conjunctions, be it of planets or starts or shot glasses.

Hawks made a split-second decision, scooping the nekomata up and taking flight, wings beating at the air as he tried to put as much distance between himself and the raiju. Dabi squirmed in his arms, claw digging into the leather of his gloves. He had gloves that rivaled a falconer’s glove, and still, he could feel Dabi puncturing them.

“What gave you the bright idea to fly?” Dabi spat, “It’s a creature of lightning, you idiot.”

“Yeah, and we’re squishy. If we stay over thirty feet up, we’re far enough up that lightning won’t hit us. Just, trust me firebug.” Hawks said, not paying attention to the way the nekomata squirmed in his arms. He wanted to give Dabi a snarky lecture on the fact that he had wings and had been flying since he was four - he knew more about the sky and the air and winds than Dabi did.

He didn’t, because those winds he knew so much about were picking up, no doubt the doing of the dog-thing chasing behind them in great leaps and bounds. It wasn’t flying after them, so it was either very young, very old, or injured.

He hissed as Dabi found purchase, climbing along his arms until he pulled himself onto Hawks’ shoulders, tucking himself between the collar of his jacket and Hawks’ neck, looking like a fancy scarf.

“Go left!” Dabi shouted in his ear, whiskers tickling his ears since his headphones were still around his neck. Hawks wasn’t sure what the fuck the stupid cat was talking about, left was-

Dabi bit his ear and he faltered, falling left just in time for something vaguely lightning-like to shoot past. The raiju.

Well, shit.

He flapped harder, deciding that yeah, sure, left was fine. Left was great.

They were only going to swap one problem for a different, potentially bigger problem. They were headed towards the cursed forest that had claimed one of the old school districts. The trees were nasty, snarled things, and only the desperate set foot there. The desperate or the foolish. No, nothing as simple as it being cursed or because that’s where the corrupt lived, no, but because the trees there were assholes. Why Dabi decided taking refuge there was a good idea, he didn’t have time to ask. It went against everything he knew about surviving storms and honestly, nesting in trees during lightning was one of the worst things to do.

“I hope you know what you’re doing!” Hawks shouted, tucking his wings close to his body and diving into the clearing beneath them. Branches whipped past, and he could feel several draw blood.

A gash opened up over one eye and he could feel leaves plaster to it, tiny roots already growing into his flesh. He tore at them, trying to keep from becoming a plant while also dodging the trunks and branches in their path.

Eventually, his luck ran out and a branch caught his foot, sending him tumbling through the air, then the branches, then finally the ground. The sudden stop left him wheezing and creaking, and if he came out of this without a broken rib he’d buy Dabi dinner.

The nekomata extricated himself from Hawk’s neck, seemingly unaffected by the trees or the fall as he shifted back. Fingers dug into his brow, pulling the leaves he couldn’t out and setting them on fire before tugging at Hawks’ arm, pulling to his feet. They took off deeper into the forest, the thin light of the city being consumed by the leaves and branches overhead, rendering Hawks entirely dependent on Dabi to guide them through the forest.

He came to a stop at the edge of what had once been a school. There weren’t any trees for about forty feet around the building, but where the branches had extended to their fullest, vines had jumped the distance. It was like walking under a tent entirely made of vines.

The air was thick with moisture and the unsettling stench of ozone. It sent the hair on the back of his neck prickling and the spare fur still on Dabi’s human form bristling.

The clearing lit up as something crashed through the vine canopy and Dabi pushed Hawks behind him. It irked Hawks greatly- between the two of them, Hawks should be the one puffing up and displaying against the dog. He was the hero and he had far more feathers to be intimidating. Dabi had little enough fur even as a cat and he was skin and bones in both forms. Not scary at all to most animals. Hawks spread his wings, two feathers ready as he watched the Raiju, waiting for Dabi to give any type of signal.

The Raiju didn’t look winded at all and its tongue lolled out of its mouth, head cocked to the side as it let out one of the creepiest sounds Hawks had ever heard. It was a croon run through a broken cassette tape. It set off every single prey instinct Hawks had, and judging by the way Dabi’s entire being seemed to puff up, the nekomata was similarly affected.

“Sooner would be better!” Dabi hissed. Hawks wasn’t sure who the fuck he was talking to, but then again, he didn’t really need to ask as a second later a tree came crashing down on top of the raiju, vines and branches and leaves wrapping around it until it was encased in a ball of mud-coated roots that was slowly sinking into the ground.

“Shit.” Hawks breathed out, leaning against Dabi’s back as he caught his breath, his arms and wings falling to his side. Dabi slumped against him, and together they held each other up as they waited for the muddy ball to sink fully under the ground.

A throat cleared to their right, and a disheveled young woman stood, an old-fashioned hurricane lantern in one hand, her other hand clutching a shawl to her shoulders. She had pale hair and red streaks in it and she looked as if she had just woken up.

“Evenin’.” She yawned, “You boys want to come in and get warm?”

“Who?” Hawks asked quietly to Dabi. Dabi shifted, trying to avoid looking at Hawks.

“Yeah, ‘Yumi. I think we will. Sorry for crashing here.” Dabi said, tone soft and as polite as Hawks had ever heard. The young woman waved off his words, then gestured with the same hand. The root of a nearby tree pulled up, showing a tunnel lit with glowing mushrooms beneath it.

“Come on. It’s warmer underground and I’m sure the harpy has questions.” She yawned again and started down the tunnel. Hawks frowned, irked at her words. He wasn’t a damned harpy. Still, she looked oddly familiar and he couldn’t place where he’d seen her face before.

Dabi started after her, pausing to look behind at Hawks. Feline ears flickered into existence and they flattened. If Hawks had to place the expression, he’d say that Dabi was… embarrassed? Nervous?

“You coming, pretty bird? Fuyumi won’t keep the door open all night, and I’d rather not test my sister’s patience before she’s had coffee.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 4)

It is only after they part ways that Azula realizes she hadn’t gotten his name. And she thinks about that for a long time afterwards. It is a stupid thing to have nagging her in the back of her mind. A trivial matter. He was a friendly face and a good companion but she didn’t know him all too well.

They’d spent a good week or so together. He helped her craft some tools like a good fishing spear and a bow and some arrows for hunting. She has an abundance of blankets so she traded one for a pan to cook her fish and game over.

They had talked a good deal, nothing of where she is headed or where she had come from. She didn’t have to drop a false name because he didn’t ask for one at all. There had been an unspoken courtesy, a knowing that she didn’t want to be known. So he settled for talking of his wife and of folklore that he’d heard during his travels.

She warned him of a rather troublesome group of bandits just to the south of where she had been before she’d entered the plains.

Azula steers her mongoose-lizard towards the skyline. She can see the outlines of buildings through a thin veil of mist. She hopes to be there before the clouds open up and soak her to the bone.

The man had told her a tale about how he and his wife had been in a thick forest huddling in a cave as they waited out a storm. He claimed that they met a spirit there; one that looked like a rabaroo but spoke like a child. They followed it out into the storm and it led them to a babe. They had taken the babe in and that, that was why he was on this journey. To trade furs and other goods for coin. He promised his wife that he’d have them plenty of food by the time he got back and toys too.

The village is in unobscured view now. And so her nervousness unveils itself too. There is always a pinch of nervousness when entering a new town; the smaller it is, the greater her sense of foreboding. She is more elusive in the bigger towns. In the smaller villages they want to get to know her.

She is almost certain that there is another larger town some miles away but she is just as certain that she won’t beat the storm. As though to diminish any figment of doubt, she spies the first fork of lightning stab into the cloud diagonal from it. She urges her mongoose-lizard to move faster. She reaches the village as the first drop of rain spatters on her cheek. The streets are desolate save for a vendor who had been late to pack in. The woman’s hair whips into her face. A face screwed up in distress and concentration. The wind is certainly picking up, it blows a few more fat droplets into Azula’s face. She hears the woman cry out as she fumbles with the protective tarp and it flies from her hand.

The sky opens up with a fury and Azula chides herself for pausing to gawk. The woman takes notice of her and she inwardly berates herself a second time. And then a third as she steers her mongoose-lizard towards the woman. She slides down from her mount and grabs the other end of the tarp. The woman grunts at the effort of securing it.

“Why did you wait so long to close your stall?” Azula questions over the storm.

“Why didn’t you plan your travels better?” She shoots back.

“I noticed the storm miles back. I can only get my mongoose-lizard to run so fast.” She swats at the wet strands of hair that plaster to her forehead and finds herself relieved that she had chosen to chop it short. The other woman doesn’t have such luck, her hair is flapping into her eyes and sticking to her bare shoulders.

“Thank you for helping me.”

“I was hoping that you could give me a place to wait out the storm.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “So you’re that sort.”

“That sort?” Azula asks. She wishes that the woman would have this discussion with her inside.

“You do things for things.”

“Well yes, that’s how it works.”

“Have you ever done anything helpful just to be generous?”

She thinks for a moment. A moment that turns into a minute and then a span of time long enough for the woman to say, “I didn’t think so.”

Azula frowns. “Fine.” She climbs back to her saddle, there is a decent puddle in it. It doesn’t matter she is drenched down to her last layer of clothing and then some.

“Wait. I didn’t mean anything by that.” The woman calls up to her. “You can stay with me if you want.”

But she is agitated already, perhaps wrongly so, and can’t imagine spending another moment with the woman. She gives the mongoose-lizard’s reins a flick and ventures into the storm. And really, what does it matter? Her sense of urgency has been washed away by having already failed to keep herself dry.

Thunder shakes the cobblestone, she hears a tree branch split. She thanks the spirits that she can bend lightning and has watched Zuko redirect it enough to have a sense of how it’s done. She finds herself an alley to steal away in.

The storm lets up as suddenly as it had come, tapering off with a few final patters. It had raged for a respectable ten minutes, but such a powerful burst can never seem to sustain itself. The village inhabitants are slower to emerge. She wonders if she is due for a second onslaught; she finds that storms like these usually come in pairs or several short sets.

She emerges from the alley dripping and shivering. Her mongoose-lizard looks just as miserable.

The streets don’t fill until the sun has been in the sky for at least an hour. And even an hour later, she is still sopping wet and dripping as though she herself is a raincloud. Her mood goes darker still.

Now, with a crowd, her nerves are flaring again. As wet as she is, she is twice as likely to draw attention. She will draw it thrice over being an outsider who is unmistakably Fire Nation.

She clenches the reigns much tighter than she needs to and guides her mount through the crowd. She watches three children, two boys and a girl kicking up puddles and giggling. An older child floats a paper boat down the stream of the sidewalk gutter. The children pay her passing by no mind. That is one constant from town to town; the children are always oblivious. At least until the adults make a fuss, then they get curious. She doesn’t like children, when they do take an interest in her they ask far too many questions and with all the social grace of a village drunk.

She scans the buildings for an inn. She will stay here for some time, earn herself some more coin, and be on her way. She resigns herself to the possibility that she might have to bypass the inn and sleep in the village green if she wishes to keep her earnings. She might have to do so regardless, this village is so small that it may not have an inn at all.

As she ganders at street signs and buildings, she feels eyes on her. Most are drawn out passing glances, some linger long enough to send a vibration up and down her spine. A very particular set of eyes refuse to leave her.

“Missus, you’re all wet!”

“So I am aware.” She answers dryly.

“I have hair too.” He beams up at her, one of his front teeth is missing. “See!” He points at his hair.

“That isn’t what I said.” She grumbles.

“I also have teeth, missus. But not all of them! Do you have all of your teeth?”

Azula blinks. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because sometimes, for some reason your tooth gets all wiggly and then it falls out. My dad says not to yank it out. Or if you’re like my friend’s brother’s dad...” He stops for a breath and starts over. “If you’re like my friend’s father’s dad you got into a fight and got punched in the face!”

“Yes, well my teeth are fine.”

“Atsu!”

The child jerks. His smile seems to dim. “That’s my dad.”

The man, he can’t be much younger than she, approaches and with a sigh and a nervous chuckle asks, “he’s not bothering you, is he?”

“Yes, he is.”

The man flushes.

“I’m sorry, he just likes talking to people. I’ve tried to tell him that it isn’t polite.”

She shrugs. “Have you tried other means of discipline?” Really it is only a question that borders on being a suggestion, but the man seems to grow more uncomfortable. “Some children only respond to strict lessons and…” She falls short watching his expression flicker into something of concern. Sometimes she forgets that the Earth Kingdom isn’t so rigid with their children. “Nevermind.” She grumbles, her own face growing red.

“Did I do something bad, dad?”

He shakes his head. “No. Fire Nationals tend to be...stern and blunt.” He puts a hand on the boy’s back.

Azula swallows, something in her belly flutters with unease and regret. She shouldn’t care. She has no reason to care. But something in her itches to make a better impression. She opens her mouth to call for him to wait but she doesn’t utter a word. She can’t come up with anything to say afterwards. By the time she thinks up something, the man and his boy have slipped into the crowd. Apparently children aren’t the only ones that have the tact of a town drunk. And so she is left to navigate the town alone. She supposes that she should simply buy some new shoes and make her way to the city over. She has enough food to last until then.

That day she learns that children will probably be her second great downfall. Or maybe it is something about not being so rigid? She learns that she still isn’t a good person. That she’s unlovable at worst and hard to be around at best.

.oOo.

Navigating the palace for the first time in years is not unlike getting used to a new town. It is hardly recognizable, easy to get lost in, and she doesn’t know many of the inhabitants. A lot of them openly and unrelentingly eyeball her as she passes. The stares aren’t particularly malicious. In fact, she doesn’t think that they are ill-meaning at all. Mostly they stare at her as though she is a phantasmal spirit.

“So there are some new portraits up.” He gestures to the gallery. “As in some I mean, one.”

She catches the faintest of jolts as he seems to recall that the feud for the throne is still a delicate topic. She eyes the image of Zuko standing tall and proud, flame in one hand, olive branch in the other. She doesn’t find herself simmering and seething. It is more or less a solemn acceptance. There is a residual tickle of envy that seeps through the cracks. She thinks that it has less to do with the crown and more to do with the respect it represents. The honor she has lost and the purpose she has yet to find. The content and peace he has found that she can’t seem to grasp even when it is securely in her hands.

“He picked a fine artist.” She remarks. And that is all. They are onto the next hallway.

“It doesn’t bother you?” He asks.

“The only thing that bothers me is that you’re starting the questions thing again.”

“How am I supposed to get to know you if I don’t ask questions?”

She shrugs. “Watch. Observe.” She accidently meets the stare of one of the passing servants. “Like everyone else.” She fidgets with the excess folds of her robe. There is a part of her that wonders if she should open up, to tell him everything from start to finish. Perhaps to slip her journal into his bag before he leaves. She backtracks, not knowing what she was thinking.

“Zuko also had a new room added to the palace.”

“A new room?”

“Yeah it’s full of trinkets from the other nations. He thought that it would be a nice way to show that we’re trying to move away from the war.”

Azula nods. “It seems like most nations are. I hadn’t expected people to be so...inviting in the Earth Kingdom.”

“Because you’re Fire Nation?”

“That’s correct.”

“They didn’t recognize you, did they?”

“I have a feeling that they wouldn’t have taken as kindly to me if they did.” She confesses. She wonders if any of the people she had met along the way would still care for her if they found her in the palace with a prettily and painstakingly styled hair and a full face of makeup. Granted, she hasn’t gotten around to that yet.

“Oh! And we can go out to the garden!” Sokka exclaims. She readily allows the subject change. “That’s different to. Your mom and uncle planted this tea garden and Zuko had some flowers imported. There are more turtle-ducks too!”

“That sounds nice, I suppose. Hajime would have enjoyed it.”

“Hajime?”

Azula stiffins and scolds herself for letting that slip. “I’d like to see the spa, it has been too long.”

Mercifully, Sokka gets the hint. “The palace spa is different too.”

She frowns. “Not the spa. I liked the spa.” She folds her arms. “It was perfectly fine the way it was.”

“I think that you’ll like the change. Come on.”

At some point Azula had come to lead the way. Like muscle memory, she finds that she can still find her way about the palace. Mostly anyhow. There are things that throw her off, decor that hadn’t been there before, a new portrait, or something that has been moved from one place to another. The spa though, upon arrival, is both the same and different. It still has the frameworks of what it once was but it is grander now, more elegant. The fountain and its adjoining chair are exactly as they had been and a small tree in a large pot still sits on either side of the staircase leading to it. The carpeting is also much the same and sunlight spills in through a large window on the ceiling.

But there are new dragons that join the ones already accenting the back wall. And these ones jut forward with mouths spilling flames of gold. She notices that they too are fountains that lead to miniature fountains, presumably for hand washing. There are also several small crystals dangling from the ceiling, casting prisms all about the room. And when the sunlight strikes them right, they bounce off of the jets of water. There are also small turtle-duck statues resting near the potted trees.

It is so familiar yet so changed. She admits that she does like the change.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s nice, Zuzu.”

“I was about to have my hair combed, but you can go first if you want.”

She would very much like that. It will take less time for them to wash her hair anyways. Where hers has been mournfully hacked, his locks have lengthened so gracefully. She thinks it somewhat cruel how he is now the one with all of the splendor both visually and in status. She feels ruefully unremarkable.  “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

The serving girls file into the room. “You hired them back?”

“They weren’t supposed to have been banished in the first place.”

She isn’t sure that he had meant it as anything more than a statement of fact, but it still stings. She reclines in the spa chair, feeling terribly uncomfortable and out of place. The longer that she stays the more she feels as though she shouldn’t have come back. It is one thing to be plain in an ordinary world and another to be lackluster when surrounded by splendor.

[sadsentinel]

ahh here’s that short story i wrote @stuffaboutwriting! thank you so so much for the interest, it means a lot ❤️ this story kind of got away from me and so the plot(?) took a turn i didn’t originally intend for it to ahh i hope it is good :)

The wind whipped through her hair, a chorus of whispers in her mind. It whistled through the trees, and the soft crescendo of birdsong enveloped the small, hidden glade.

“I know,” she whispered.

Nature was not happy. The creaking of ancient oaks crackled through the air, and for a moment, she worried that one would fall and crush her. But it simply wouldn’t do to kill the messenger.

A voice called her name from far away. Fear surged through her body as the voice grew closer.

The wind surged around her, like a tornado, sending her hair flying in all directions. Through the thick black curtain of hair that was plastered across her face, she could see him enter the clearing.

“No, please—”

He didn’t listen.

“Mara, it’s time to come home, there’s going to be a storm!” The man grabbed her wrist, axe firmly gripped in his other hand.

“She’s mad at you,” the girl whispered.

“What? We have to go now, come on—”

His body flew across the glade until it collided with a thick oak tree, and his body went limp. The axe he’d been carrying had struck the same trunk, only feet away from where he’d fallen. The gale grew even stronger around her, until all the fallen leaves in the glade were racing through the air.

“I know,” she said again. She turned her gaze to the village, barely visible through the thick brush. The whistle of the wind filled her ears, and as though her body was not her own to control, she walked across the clearing and grabbed the axe.

Please don’t make me.

Her plea was met with silence.

“I don’t want to do this,” she said it aloud this time, in hopes that maybe it would change her mind. It didn’t. One step after another, she began to wade through the thick wild berry bushes.

“Stop.” Her voice was firm, filled with finality. She hadn’t wanted to be the messenger in the first place. But she wasn’t, not anymore. Now she was the executioner.

As she approached the village, she passed the clearing of felled trees, of lifeless stumps torn from the wet earth. Rain had begun to fall heavily, so strong that some of the smaller stumps were washed away. Lightning split the air, touching down on the ground all around her. Fire burst up from everywhere she could see. Rain and smoke and ash filled the air.

This was the end.

***

“Where’s Ben?” I searched the crowd frantically. My voice cracked with tears as I searched the fearful faces for him. “Ben!” I cried out. There was no answer; only the terrified cries of the townspeople.

“Leliana, we have to get out. Now.” Everyone was evacuating the village. The lower areas of town had already begun to flood.

It took me a moment to realize that the person speaking to me was the mayor. He clutched a small cat in his arms, his eyes welling up with tears.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. She promised it wouldn’t happen.” He was rambling to himself, and although it panicked me even more, I remained rooted to the spot. A city guard ran up to us and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him to safety.

I climbed up onto the roof of a taller building to get a better view. I couldn’t see him. He’d gone to get his sister back from the woods, but I hadn’t seen him since. I turned my gaze to the forest I’d watched him disappear into earlier. There was no trace of him, but I saw Mara.

She was slowly approaching the village, his axe in hand. Her steps were leisurely. The expression she wore was blank, and her eyes glowed white. I watched as she drew closer to a wall of fire. Mara was terrified of fire.

I yelled her name, hoping I could snap her out of whatever was happening to her. It didn’t work. Closer and closer. I watched helplessly as each step brought her closer to the flames. She still didn’t react. It was as if she was in a trance.

At the last second, just as I was about to look away, the wall of fire parted for her. As soon as she was through, it swelled up again, and blazed further along the countryside.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. What was happening?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t normal. I yelled for her. Again and again.

Finally, she turned her white, ethereal gaze on me. There wasn’t a single trace of feeling in her face. What had she done to Ben?

“The wind is not happy. She,” Mara added, gesturing to the air around her, “is angry.”

“Who is?”

“Nature.” Her voice was loud, and carried as though it was coming from the heavens above. As if it were as powerful as the thunder shaking the earth.

I followed her gaze as she looked around the countryside. At the numerous trees that had been cut down, at the soil that eroded at their bases. Her gaze led me to the river, which had been growing more and more polluted as the town grew larger and more visitors passed through.

We had been destroying the once beautiful landscape. For centuries.

“She wants revenge.” Mara lifted her hand to the sky, and lightning rained down as if it were droplets of water. The wind picked up, and the sky, thick with heavy grey-black clouds, shook with the force of the thunder. I felt the ground rumble beneath me, and looked on in horror as the soft, wet earth began to split open throughout the town. Whole buildings were swallowed into the fiery depths. Screams split the air.

“This is the end,” Mara’s hollow voice filled the air, louder than any crack of thunder.

***

“Stop it!” Elise’s voice sounded, and she shooed her children away from the flowerbed. “I’ve been teaching you since you were born to respect this land.” Her two kids, who had been stomping through the flowers, let their gazes fall in shame.

“You two remember the story, don’t you?” I watched them with curiosity, still holding the flower I was about to plant.

The children remained silent, and Elise took that as an opportunity to retell the legend.

“Hundreds of years ago, there were people who lived here. Lots of them. They didn’t take care of their home,” she said sadly. “Your great-great-great grandmother was there. She almost lost her life when Nature rained down on them.”

“What happened again?” Her daughter finally looked up, her round eyes wide.

“Mara, The Messenger, brought the apocalypse with her. On behalf of Nature.”

“Wow.” Her son’s voice was filled with wonder.

“‘Wow’ is right. But it wasn’t cool, or fun. People died. The land was destroyed.”

Elise looked out over the rolling hills in the distance. Trees dotted the landscape, and crystal blue water flowed through the river between them. The rushing of a waterfall echoed through the gorge, reaching us from impossibly far away. Wild flowers filled the empty spaces of lush green grass, and birds chirped happily.

“That’s why we must take care of it now,” Elise said quietly, taking in the beauty of it all.

After a moment of silence, I spoke up.

“The wind speaks, and we must listen.”

[friendlybowlofsoup]

Hellloooo~ I was wondering how would ROs react if MC that they thought has passed away but return to them after a few days

Hiya! Sorry again for the wait, I get busy here and there so I can’t always answer RO asks as efficiently as I want to, plus if I don’t take breaks from writing now and then, I burn out super fast  人(_ _*)

For this ask, MC cannot die normally due to their condition, but I wrote these as if they weren’t tainted in order to keep it spoiler-free. 

Also, I wanted to make it a little longer than usual! It’s been a while since I got practice for angst, so I wanted to see how much I could write. This won’t be the norm from now on though, I’d never get anything done if every ask took this long to write

(｡T ω T｡)

Posting under the cut for space~

Edit: alright, format for mobile should be fixed

–

Qiu dreads to see his dreams turn to nightmares. His future with you, his endless time promised by your side—your smile, your voice, the patterns of love you traced upon his skin—they twist in his sleep, warping into taunts. Into mockery. Into shade. He’s haunted by the happiness that lingers in his sleep, by the fantasies that shouldn’t have been fantasies, and wakes with his own claws on his skin, his own blood vanishing from the sheets.

And then you return. Just like that. You return like air to inflate his lungs. Like a ghost returned to reap your dues. He recoils, jerks away from your touch, amber eyes wild and red and unfocused. Feathers you’ve never seen, wings you thought he’d tucked away for good, unfurl as he whips away, but you catch him before he can fly.

Maybe it’s your chi that brings him back, the clarity of it that no illusion could fake. Or perhaps his heart just knows. Either way, he bites hard into his lip and crushes you against his chest, curling you with him until you both collapse onto the floor.

And he cries. He cries, he cries, he cries.

–

An tries to move forward, as she has always done, but nothing seems to stick, her being is stuck in suspense, like a vessel in a windless sea. It takes time. Healing takes time. Forgetting your love takes time. She wants it to quicken. She also wants it to slow. She holds your memory deep in her chest, holds onto the words she knows you said, and turns them over and over in her mind to engrave them forevermore into her soul.

So lost in herself, she never felt you approach. Your hands fall upon her cheeks, hands she still knows so well, and her gaze sweeps up. Like a ship roused to life, she jolts unsteadily, but you catch her, and she falls against you instead. Her body shakes, shrinks, and peonies bloom by your very feet as you sink her into your arms.

Her voice calls out to you, cries out, and everything seems to shift again. The world spins at her feet, the clouds spiral in the sky, because you are here, you are alive, and she can move again. Finally, she can move again.

–

Min He traps herself in her own skin. Rain, wind and deluge pour down the mountain—her gasps become thunder, her cries into lightning. She seeks a way out, a way out of the endless rebound of nightmares of you begging for salvation, a way out of the guilt, regret, shame for never being enough. The shrine is a prison, keeps her from the world, from the soaked earth that mourns your loss and desires her blood.

Then she feels you in her domain once more. Your soul, bright and lively and glowing even when drenched, calls for her and she flees that wooden cell. Wash and mud soak her hair, turning it to lead. Trees and brush snag on her sleeves, tripping her to the merciless ground. But she runs, she flies, until she sees you again.

Your skin splits when she kisses you, and bruises will blossom where her fingers dig into your neck, but it is a merciful pain. It speaks of gratitude, of promises, of a second chance she will surely, surely fulfill.

–

Kaski drowns. Your love was his sun, was his daybreak over mist, a break between the clouds he thought he loved so much. Without you, the dam spills over. Memories of past, memories of you, it all spills and mixes, bringing back the taste of singed fur, broken glass, and human blood. It becomes impossible to remember you without the sight of a black flame. Impossible to not see you lying in a pool of blood, dying a death that was not originally yours. He slogs through the dredge of emotions, gagging on tragedy he thought had long since healed.

You appear, one day, without notice. Green eyes, the color of moss, meet yours. He squints, blinded and head-splitting, reeling back even as you approach. But you catch up to him, as certain as the sun will always melt away the dew, and your hand rests gently on the inside of his arm.

He falls against you. His head slams into your shoulders and your knees buckles, but he refuses to let go. He refuses to even speak. He keeps you there, in his grasp, for hours and hours, like a drowned man sprawled under the sun, seeking to dry.

–

Xinyi doesn’t believe you to be really gone. Everything goes too smoothly, his village runs too nonchalantly, and though he cries and cries, the world never notices your absence. You were everything to him, more than a mere dream, more than some specter he had pledged his life to. You were real in his arms, solid when you kissed him, warm when you cherished him. You disappearance meant more than an unravelling of chi, more than rampant energy returning the earth, yet no one else seems to know that. He is the only one.

He’s not facing you when you find him, at last. His shoulders spike when you hold them, shiver when you breathe against his skin, and hunch when you whisper his name.

He sobs into your hands as the both of you slip to the ground. The realization of your supposed death hits him then, swirling with the relief that he had been right this whole time. But he knows now that if you were to go, it would be the same. It terrifies him, that normality, and haunts him, long after he confirms that you’re safe and returned.

–

Hiemi tells herself this was meant to be, that she should have known, that she was foolish to think otherwise. She seals away her tears, fights away the heartache, uses it all to fuel her broiling hatred for the world. You turn into a martyr for her long dead ambitions, the excuse she always needed, and though it rips her heart to know what she’s doing to your memory, her path is already so far along its journey.

That is, until you meet her along the road. She recognizes you instantly, your colors and patterns had not yet faded, and her steps stop entirely. You’re glowing with vitality, with vibrant, consistent shades—too solid to be a ghost returned to haunt her.

She wavers. Her limbs, normally nimble and quick, grow numb as anger gives way to fatigue, and you catch her, though just barely. Her arms squeeze your waist, her voice rambles until it grows hoarse, until nothing is coherent any longer, until it fades to silence and you’re both left holding each other in the middle of the road.

–

Go Ro must burn away your presence, yet it seems only your belongings remain unscathed in his shrine. Flowers wilt, papers set ablaze, but your clothes, your gifts, the places you’ve touched remain. Each day he reaches to destroy them, to turn them to ash, and each day, they survive. They sit there, glaring at him, and the more he destroys the rest of his shrine, the more mocking they seem to become, growing less as reminders of you and more into symbols of his weakness.

You return, just a mere couple days after your disappearance, to a shrine that smells of smoke. Black scorch marks are seared menacingly into the gate, and the flowers have all but dried up, save for the ones in the pavilion you had so tenderly cared for. You reach for them, for their tender petals, but you never manage to touch them.

Skin hot enough to brand. Eyes that drip scarlet gold. Lips that taste of blood, of teeth, of fire and ash and wasted camellia bloom. Go Ro hears not your need for breath, not your questions of the state of his shrine—his ears have searched for your heartbeat, loud and pounding against his, and presses and presses against you until it quickens, until it confirms that you are well, alive, and present.

–

Chun has seen a hundred deaths, enough to know how yours must have been. The imagery never fades. Did you unravel softly in the moonlight, thinking of her and those you loved? Or did you go clinging to life, holding onto flesh that vanished before your eyes, spitting at the image of the sun that is said to haunt the sight of the dying? One hundred possibilities spin endlessly in her mind, your death occurs over and over and over for her—each new one she encounters, your face shadows theirs, until she can hardly remember how you were when you were alive.

She thinks you are a cruel imitator. Some other spirit who has faked your countenance to take advantage of her, and she lashes out. She spits vitriol, blue-gray eyes turning to ice, and snaps her hands out of yours. It takes time, takes you to remind her of memories that only the two of you could have known, before she finally breaks.

And break she does. The cycle cracks, your death throes no longer gape from afar, and though it will haunt her forevermore in her dreams, at least when she wakes, she finds solace in your arms, in your grasp, in the reality that you have not left her at all.

–

Spider feels time slip between his fingers, coagulated and uneven, set askance by the void of your absence. Seconds are eternities, yet hours pass in blinks. He wastes away at the bar, at the corners of the street, at the harassment of others. His own blood, his own useless chi spill endlessly from his body, repelling all others, excluding him from crowds. He’d have given this all to you if he could. His worthless vitality, this unfriendly gift of salvation, if he had been there to save you, he’d had given it all up for you.

He’s half unconscious when you find him, hunched and beaten and bleeding. It hurts you to approach him—his chi peels away at your skin and eats the edges of your existence, but it hurts more to see him loll his head in your direction, eyes unfocused and cloudy. You nurse him back to health, even when no one will give you a room, when no one will sell you the medication, you bring him back until he wakes.

And he punches you. He hurls you both to the ground, his body heaving and hulking and straining as he pins you beneath him, reopening all the wounds you had so painstakingly tried to heal, but it is his tears that falls on you rather than blood. He sobs, clenching your collar with a weak, trembling fist, and his forehead falls against yours.

[platypanthewriter]

Stories of the past:  Billy

The Keg-King of Elfland’s Sword, Ch. 8 for @ihni​

Here are links to the other chapters

As they approached the docks, they could see flashes lighting the night sky up dark blue from across the lake, showing the the legs of an enormous spider crab overarching the lake, silvery in the ferry lanterns, but black against the sky. The gleaming light shone off the flank of Wheeler’s white deer, tiny against the backdrop of waves, mountain, and lightning.

“The Lady of the Salt Lake,” said one of the boys, pointing, and Max stared. “She rides it, when she fights against the Nuckelavee.”

“Now she rides against us,” said the little one, Will Byers, the one who ought to sound angrier, Billy thought, after escaping with a body full of crustaceans.

“She can try,” said Max, readying her sword.

“They’ve been herding us here,” said the curly one, with the club. “Because we’re children. Makes it easier to find her, at least.”

Harrington snorted, and held a hand out for his club.

“I can stop her,” said the little girl—Ellie, Billy remembered, the one who’d been held captive by the men with cannons. The spindly-legged crabs spilled over the stones at the river’s edge as they ran, and Ellie turned, set her feet, and whipped her hand through the air at them. The crabs scattered like a glittering pile of mica in wind, and Billy’s mouth fell open. He nearly tripped, then registered Harrington’s voice in his ear.

“She may be one of the Fair Folk herself,” Harrington whispered. “That’s—that would be why she believes she is the child. The one the Lady seeks.” She’d escaped, somehow, and Billy abruptly wondered whether it hadn’t been the Nuckelavee, but her, causing the skeletons. He would have been tempted to ask, if the children, even Max, hadn’t been sending him glances like he was some storybook bogeyman: He Who Strikes From Behind.

“You can’t go with her,” one of the assorted boys took Ellie’s hands. “She can’t make you leave—”

Billy, who was trying to place him, thought he might have been at the Ball. There were too damn many children, as far as he was concerned, though he was fairly certain this was neither the one who puked crabs, nor one of the two who had held weapons on him, so if he needed to save any, he decided, he’d be the first after Max. Ellie, apparently, could handle herself.

“I’m the one she stole,” said the one Billy believed to be a fellow William, the crab-puker. “It’s me she wants, Ellie, you don’t have to—”

“What would she want with any of you,” Steve groaned, and Billy resisted the urge to nod.

“The Fair Folk like children,” said the one with Billy’s sword. “She’s not hunting one of us. She hasn’t given Callie back. She’s herding us all here—”

“We do not— we don’t all steal people—” said the hitherto Least Objectionable Child, and Billy raised his eyebrows, wondering who he was.

“She’s never taken children before, either—” Curly said, and Ellie spun on her heel to yell “I will stop her.”

Harrington set his jaw, swallowing. “They were coming anyway,” he told Billy, under his breath. “I—I couldn’t let the little goblins come alone.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Billy whispered back, with a snort, and yanked Harrington’s head closer to kiss his temple. “Hero Harrington. Max can be hard to—”

Harrington rolled his eyes. “I’m not trying to be a hero—”

“You aren’t,” Billy pulled him close again, licking his ear, and Harrington shoved him, laughing. “That’s why I—want you. Wanted you. When I heard about you, at the Ball.”

“...I thought it was my looks,” Harrington said, snickering, and the children stopped to glare back at them, white-faced, tight-jawed, and teary-eyed.

“I thought you two hated each other!” wailed Curls, and Max swiveled to fix her fury on him.

“Billy’s staying,” she hissed, and Harrington yanked Billy close, pressing warm kisses to his face.

“You intended to stay,” he whispered, laughing. “Even—even—after. Before.”

Billy hadn’t, and yet, he couldn’t imagine himself having left without fixing like a post under Harrington’s chamber window, standing in wind and weather until Harrington let him speak. “I could hardly leave without you hogtied over my saddle,” he whispered back, and Harrington burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the silvery night.

At just that moment, there was another crash ahead, and a scream. Little Will-of-the-crabs shoved away, running to the docks, and the others followed, their footsteps smacking loud against the paving stones over the sounds of the rushing river. Billy stopped, squinting, when his footsteps changed to hollow thuds on boards, but Harrington drug him forward across the dock, to where they could see Ms. Byers, Will, and Ellie trying to keep the Sheriff from sinking in the roiling foam. In the darkness, the dock looked too short, and Billy realized it was broken, the jagged edges breaking away as Ms. Byers tilted forward with another scream, and Max charged in, throwing her sword to the side.

Billy dodged back as Wheeler’s white stag clattered up, joined by Buckley and the others, and the children gathered around trying to help everyone out of the water as the ferry jutted up sideways and slammed into the docks hard enough that the horses staggered and reared.

Thomas fired off a crossbow bolt at the dark shapes above, then fell as the great silvery tree trunk of the Lady’s steed-crab’s leg came down on the docks, amid shrieks from the children. Billy nearly fell to his knees, supporting Harrington.

“I am here, children,” said the Lady, and the silvery light around them grew. It was bluish, and the small hairs on the backs of Billy’s arms and neck lifted. “This town that harms children will be washed clean. Come.”

“No,” cried one of the boys, and Billy wished him luck. “You’re the only one hurting anyone! Give Callie back! And my sister’s friend, Barbara Holland!”

Harrington hauled him closer, as Billy tried to find Max. Buckley was standing next to Wheeler, with another crossbow, and Carol alongside, the three of them placing themselves between the Lady and the panicked confusion over the disintegrating dock. It looked like everyone was out of the water, crawling away from the building waves.

“These people have frightened children,” the Lady told them, her hair lifting and crackling from her head. “They have stolen from me. Ellie,” she held out a hand. “Dear one. I saved you. Why did you run?”

Ellie shook her head, sniffling.

“She wanted to be with her real mom,” the boy holding Ellie’s hand yelled back.

“I will wash this place down to its stones,” the Lady told him. “I have fought for them. Every spring, for their sakes, I have fought the Nuckelavee back into its lair. I have—I have suffered for them. We—” she held a long, pale hand out to Wheeler, who shook her head, raising her crossbow. “We of the mountain have protected their fragile lives, and in return they captured a child—” she waved a graceful hand at Ellie, “—and threatened her into breaking a hole between worlds. Much sadness will come of that,” she whispered, staring over them all with fixed eyes that shone with their own inner light. “Many of their lives will be further shortened. Animals, running in fear. But come, it needn’t all be grief. Come, children. You shall be harmed no more.”

“No!” Ellie yelled back, trying to stand as the roiling sea shook the dock.

“Wait,” Thomas shouted suddenly. “What did we steal?”

“Shut your mouth, Tommy,” Billy heard Carol hiss, but he ignored her.

“No, really, we didn’t blow up her house, but I know what she means—but what exactly did we steal?”

“Me,” said Ellie, and Will nodded.

“Ellie left her, and then came with us,” Thomas yelled. “What did we steal?”

“My own child,” the Lady hissed, swiping her hand around her, and the deep, chill water pulled back to leave a sphere of crackling air around the docks, leaving only glistening rocks, mud, and gasping fish. The darkness was split by surges of light from the Lady, dazzling their eyes and reflecting off the wall of ocean growing taller than they could see.

“What did those letters say, Steven Harrington,” Thomas turned, holding his hands around his mouth to project his voice. It quavered. “Madness in his blood. Witchcraft, from a woman who thought she was a fae princess. He’s looking for his mother.”

“Shut your mouth, Thomas,” Carol yelled, raising her sword, and he bared his teeth at her.

“It’s important,” Thomas yelled, “Young Master Harrington. He’s lied about everything. He’s brought her on this town. Give him back to her.”

Billy felt as though he’d gone numb, his brain trying to take in the phosphorescent shape of a floating woman, and the towering cliff face of water, lifting over Hawkins.

“...Billy,” Steve whispered, clenching his hand on Billy’s shoulder.

“No,” Billy shook his head. “No. I can’t—Harrington—”

“What nonsense to you speak,” the Lady asked, with a snap in her voice they could taste. “The people of this place will hurt no more children—”

“When I was a child, a wave took the lower town,” Harrington whispered, staring at Billy. “When we were children. Billy, how old are you? When did your father move to Australia?”

Billy shook his head, swallowing. “No! I—I’m two and twenty—I was six, but—”

“She’s here because of you,” Harrington said, and Billy flinched, shaking his head. Harrington ran his hands through his hair, taking deep breaths. “She—she called the ocean, and sixteen years ago, she took the lower town. Because her lover took her child... very, very far away. She couldn’t find him—”

Billy shook his head, swallowing. He could hear Max yelling something, obscured by the rushing in his ears. “No. She—she tried to drown me, she—”

“She doesn’t understand humans,” Harrington stared into his face. “She thought she was helping Ellie. She’s the Mother of the Sea, Billy, she thought you’d be able to breathe water.”

“No,” Billy shook his head harder, feeling Harrington pull away as he stood. “No, Harrington, I can’t—”

Thomas hailed the Lady. “This is him. Your child,” he waved a hand. “He came back looking for you.”

“...no,” said the Lady, stepping off the crab to land in the middle of the ferry with a loud crunch of wood. She jerked her foot back out of the broken decking, and walked across the water and collapsing wreckage to stare into Billy’s face. “You are not he,” she said, and his eyes burned, as though, he thought, he’d wanted, just for a moment, to be claimed. He staggered forward at a grating blow to the back and sides of his neck, and she stepped back, a gleaming trail dangling from her hand in the uneven light, the chain of Billy’s necklace broken from his neck. “Yet you have my gift.”

“No,” Billy forced his voice through his raw throat. “No, the-that’s mine—”

“You are not my child, you are another thief,” she said, energy crackling around them, and Billy shook his head, unable to find his words. In the dazzle, he felt hands on his arm, and heard Harrington’s urgent voice.

“It’s the necklace you gave him! It’s been twenty years! Babies grow!”

“...that is so.” The crackling light dimmed, and Billy could see again, a little. His throat ached. “But it cannot have been so long. This stranger—”

“I’m sorry,” Billy breathed, reaching for the necklace, as she clicked it. Harrington’s voice came out, and she threw it down, leaving a blackened hole in the dock.

“You traded my voice,” she whispered, as Billy watched it fall, dropping to his knees next to the hole. “Was it so valueless, to you?”

“...he recieved it with no voice,” Harrington said, and Billy jerked back to attention, standing up.

“Lies. I sang to my child,” she said, stepping close, so every hair on Billy’s body lifted, and his clothed fluttered as though there was wind. “I could not keep him safe, but I told him of his home, and of my love.”

“...he—he must have—wiped it clean,” Billy whispered, shaking. “My—my father. I carried it as a gift from—from you, but I had no—I thought you had...nothing to say.”

“I had the world to say,” she whispered back, and his eyes blurred. Harrington’s fingers were bruisingly tight in his shoulder.

“I didn’t steal it,” Billy told her, glancing past her at the enormous wave suspended over the town. His voice shook. “I’ve always worn it—”

The great silver crab crushed another piling holding up the dock, and Hopper swore as the boards under them juddered and creaked. He and the Byers woman were dragging the children ashore.

Buckley shouted, “—we didn’t steal him. Can’t you—can we—take him back, if that—”

“Wait, we only have his word he didn’t know,” Thomas yelled over her. “He probably knew all along. Only the Lady can control the Nuckelavee, Harrington! The Sea Mither. His mother. He was never in danger at all, he probably called it—”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Harrington said through gritted teeth.

“Why have you never sent word,” the Lady asked Billy, reaching out. “I would speak with you, my own. Dear one. Where came you these bruises? Who has assailed you?”

Billy fought to talk, his muscles spasming at her closeness. His jaw wouldn’t open until she lowered her hand, and he wheezed deep breaths.

“I knew he was hiding something else,” Thomas laughed, and Harrington yanked Billy closer, but the Lady turned her gaze on Thomas.

“My child’s blood is upon you,�� she whispered, floating higher, and raised her hand. The wave began to fall.

Everyone ran to get off the dock, stumbling, screaming, and swinging up on horses—except Thomas, who stared out at the wave, then swung around on Billy, grabbing his shirt. “You’ve killed him,” he hissed. "You've killed us all."

Billy swung at him, trying to free himself, but Carol, Robin, and Harrington started hauling them towards the town.

“There’s no time!” Carol screamed, shoving at Tommy’s hands.

Tommy reached past Robin to grab for Billy, teeth bared, and Robin staggered at the edge of the dock, when Carol shoved past Thomas to grab Robin around the waist, hauling her bodily back towards town. Thomas hung in the air for a moment, and then the water struck.

Billy heard a yell from Harrington as the air was smacked from his lungs, and tried to kick towards him. The roiling foam was white, and bright turquoise, and a green so dark it was almost black, and he was knocked sideways by the coils of the eels and the tree-trunk-sized leg of the Lady’s spider crab steed. He couldn’t find anyone, any frantic flailing arms, or limp, drifting bodies. Harrington’s voice rang in his head, saying ‘she took the lower town, one day.’ And Thomas’, ‘You’ve killed us all.’ The water numbed his skin, and the remaining air in his lungs went sour. It was as dark with his eyes closed as open, and he closed them against the sting, curling into a ball as his shoulder thudded and scraped against something else, knocking bubbles out of his mouth. He saw something glint, and reached out, feeling the shape of a shell, and the broken chain.

He kept swimming, though he didn’t know which direction to go.