#«Flesh rotting in an ocean of time» ic

[thegnomelord]

Shark Merperson reader is real gud.

- 🦈

(HOLY FUCK. THANK YOU TO WHICH EVER ANON REQUESTED THAT BECAUSE I FUCKIN LOVE SHARKS.

Now Im thinking of a Price x Reader, because shars are the oldest species known to exist. Obviously sharks arent immortal, they've just been on this earth way b4 tress bloody existed.

So Im thinking the readers an eldritch creature, they represent sharks as a whole, as long sharks exsist they exsist. Heck they mights of even of been Prices mentor when he was in his draconic 100s? (Late 20s?).

Imagine Price missing his friend calls him up to see hows hes doing. Reader elated to meet an old friend, accepts the invitation to meets up with him. Reader definitely scolds him for lossing a wing, honestly is pertrified Price lost a piece of himself and thought he was retiring due to it. Cut ahort to him smacking him slap dab on the head when he learns he's lost it a long time ago and didnt tell him.

Cue wholesome interactions th 141 and etc. Heck maybe some romance with Price.

Just a blurb i had yo tell you abt)

Okay, this tickles my eldrich abomination trying to act human itch

CW:SFW, eldritch reader, kissing

Price knows you're there the second he steps onto the old wooden pier, able to smell seaweed and brine and something in the air — what he thinks the bottom of the ocean smells like, old rot of decaying whales and older heat of geothermal vents — the soft wind billowing his hair like the breathing of an elderly beast.

He knows you're watching him, passively at least, washed up mermaid purses dotting the beach to give you a glimpse of the world above the waves through the yolks vital for the pup's survival, able to dream of the warm sun and course sand while you slumber beneath the waves.

"Oi, ser, yer look like a wee lass waiting for her sailor." Soap's sharp voice cuts through the air, the werewolf far too energized for his own good, the sand in his fur not dampening his mood when he can just shake himself off and flick the grains on Simon.

"Hah," Price snorts, "Maybe I am." He tilts his head back to the sea, sharp eyes watching the breaking waves. "Time to wake up old friend." He mutters your mangled name under his breath, mortal lips and vocal cords unable to replicate your own voice.

The young ones in his team lack the sight needed to notice your form slowly rise from the sea like a submarine breaking through the ice, only the visible flicker of air and the receding water keying them in. Price old enough to see you without needing the inner surface of his skull to be dotted with eyes. Though even he sees your real form like a man having a stroke — vaguely familiar at first yet the details are undefinable — flesh and sea melding together without rhyme or reason, long strings of seaweed bearing miniature eyes with pups wriggling inside, cookie cutter sharks boring holes through finless corpses so long eel sharks may form ever reforming sinews, fossilized bone and old rock giving giving support to the massive insult to reality's laws; birth and life wrapped up in death.

You're an affront to logic. And with one sneeze from existence itself you're human standing in front of him.

Eerily human.

Perfectly human.

Almost.

"What the fuck?" He can faintly hear Gaz's voice, all of them only now noticing you stand where you weren't previously.

Your hand touches his back before he even registers you move, always slightly damp, "When did this happen?" You ask as you trace the spot where his wing used to be. "What did this?"

"And a 'hello' to you too sweetheart." He clasps a hand around your waist, purring softly in greeting as he pulls you closer to his chest. Even if he sees you once every few centuries, even if you don't possess the ability to reciprocate, his love for you is as youthful as it was when he was but a wyrm.

Your facial features remain neutral like the ones of sunken statues, but you blink, and for a few seconds he can see that yawning abyss in your eyes. "Hi." You say, your hand still tracing the bump created by atrophied flight muscles, trying to judge how fresh it is. "Explain."

Your tone sounds like a predator baring it's teeth, but he knows you wouldn't harm him. "In a lil' bit." He snorts, puts pressure on your back until he forces your legs to move. "Come, want you to meet my boys."

The introductions are odd on both ends considering you hadn't spoken with people other than Price since that Icarus of a passenger ship mistook your fin for an iceberg and they've never met an old one like you. But you like them, they compliment Price just like the small scale he gave you makes the pearls and gold offered to you through the ages shine more.

Even if your face is unreadable, somehow they can figure out you're not too amused when you hear he'd lost his wing during a mission. "I told you arrogance would cost you." You at least you can mimic a sigh as you rub your head, "At least you retired." You say,

"We wish!" Soap snorts before he can help it, and the next thing they hear is a horrific crack that has them jumping out of their skin.

Your head had whipped 180 degrees with the rest of your body remained in place, the laws of nature nothing more but blurry guidelines. "You. . .did retire?" You ask, voice like the roar of a whirlpool.

"About that," Price starts, unable to finish his thought as you slap him upside the head as if he's still the whelp who thought he could brave an ocean storm.

"You'll put me in the grave." You growl, holding him by the ear, words spilling from your mouth like seawater filling the empty bowels of a ship. "I swear your scaly hide hasn't learned a single thing-"

"Should we help?" Gaz wonders as they watch you chastise their captain like he's a boy.

"No, this is great entertainment." Ghost chuckles.

"Want me ta grab the popcorn?" Johnny ads, already snacking, tail thumping against Simon's leg and growling playfully when Gaz reaches for the snacks.

Eventually your anger relents, mood changing as swiftly as the tide. You spend the time they have left learning about the men he's chosen as his hoard. Kyle's a bit weary of you just due to his harpy nature, but soon enough you two can be found sitting on the pier and fishing, and if you purposely make the waves flow so a big fish snags on Kyle's line, Price never says anything about it, not when his boy has a smile as big as the sun when he looks at the gigantic fish flopping on his hook.

You attempting to help Soap cook the barbeque, but you're fine motor skills are rusty after all these years of slumber, so the food is slightly burnt but Price loves when his food's basically charcoal and eats it with a smile, especially as it keeps you from telling all the embarrassing stories you have of him, from when he got his ass bit by a squid to when he was so horny he ended up rutting against an extra curvy piece of rock, though the rest have already heard enough dirt to bury him for the next several decades.

Unfortunately for Price, you and Ghost hit it off like a house on fire, and Ghost ends up learning far too many ways to hurt people without killing them that most definitely are against the Geneva conventions but you pull seniority on it. Simon in turn, teaches you how to play cards, which, when you're literally a god that can see almost everything including your opponent's cards, means the shmucks Simon ropes into playing you and Simon end up with empty pockets.

As the sun stars to dip behind the horizon you wind up sitting next to Price by the fire, the others splashing in the water.

You feel his wing spread behind your back to pull you closer to him, "I missed this." He says, knowing you won't comment on the 'I missed you' hidden behind his vellum words.

"Last time we met like this Napoleon was still emperor." You hum, a small yawn escaping you, sharp tips of shark teeth peeking from human gums. "And you had two wings." You can't help but point out, making it clear you've not forgiven him about not informing you.

Price pointedly ignores your later comment, his hand tentatively, almost shyly, reaching down to sit on top of yours. "Afraid I'll forget about you?"

His pulse picks up when you shift your hand to hold his, fingers lacing together when you don't have a tail as a human. "You wait for me." You shrug, holding your free arm up, reality wheezing for a few moments before his scale is suddenly in your hand, shiny and unharmed just as it was when he'd given it to you all those years ago. "And I dream of you."

His eyes widen and heart melts, a purr rumbling in his chest "C'mere sweetheart," He rumbles and pulls you into a kiss, free hand holding your chin stable.

You taste of salt and blood, of chilling cold and boiling heat, of something ancient and familiar and Price drinks it all down like a babe, tongue licking in your mouth and fangs nibbling on your lip, feeling you respond, the touch of hungering god as soft as silk, just to him.

But he knows this won't last.

A shark has no reason to stay on land, and a dragon can't survive underwater regardless of how much he wants. Soon you'll return to slumber, and Price won't know when he'll see you again, if he'll see you again, or if you'll learn of his passing when your waves swallow up his ashes.

He doesn't notice the prickling in his eyes but you do, wiping a stray tear with the pad of your thumb, your other hand still wrapped around his. "Don't worry John," You say, statue features finally cracking into a small smile, "I'll stay for a little while." You say and lead him into another kiss, the other members of TF141 leaving you two to catch up on lost time...

#gnome's tea break #gnome correspondence #🦈anon #trinkets from the hoard #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #captain john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #eldritch reader #monster 141 au #monster cod au #cod monster au

[whispersinthedawn]

The Last of a Dying Breed (3)

“Will I be allowed to live now?” Percy asked dispassionately.

Body in an informal slouch, facial muscles relaxed into the calm that accompanied a true lack of care, and eyes the blue of ice-capped glacial seas, Percy Jackson was the picture of a casual observer inquiring about someone else’s fate.

Apollo wanted to sweep her into his arms and hide her from the indifferent gazes pinning her down like a butterfly on a corkboard.

Apollo wanted to rip off that face of hers for daring to conceal her thoughts and fears from him.

He blinked. That was all the reaction he could permit himself.

“Your death, Pythia, has never been our goal,” Athena informed the demigod.

No, Apollo thought sardonically, just a happy coincidence.

The first hint of animation entered Percy’s face. Her eyes flashed.

Athena continued on, unaware. “While I would encourage caution, especially given our increasingly perilous circumstances, I have already been overruled. No, a return to your previous state of statis could be argued for.”

“No.”

For a second, Apollo didn't recognise his own voice.

Didn't recognise anything but the barely leashed panic in mute eyes looking so entreatingly into his.

“My daughter will not die here,” Poseidon growled out.

Rainbows.

An iridescent light shone in Percy's eyes, like sunlight reflecting off oil poured on the ocean surface to calm the waves.

Please.

With a rush of pleasure that Apollo would deny if anyone were to ever ask, he realised that Percy’s calm was merely a façade. She hadn't changed from the wild, panicked, miserable wretch of those terrible months. Hadn’t passed these interminable years learning self-sufficiency. Hadn't overcome her dependency on him.

Percy might have painstakingly soldered metal plates around herself, but her shell was hollow. She'd built her house from slivers of rusty iron, and now her fortifications trembled.

“And my Pythia will not sleep,” Apollo countered silkily. “Or do you require another reminder of the consequences?”

“You cannot enforce another culling,” Ares sneered, even as his muscles bunched in preparation of an attack.

“I don't need to,” Apollo returned calmly, gaze firmly affixed on the thawing cold of Percy’s irises. “Your daughter would be the first to elucidate you on the dangers of camp.”

Ares snorted, no doubt taking it as yet another comment on the bullying tendencies of his progeny, but Apollo didn't care.

He'd warned them. For the sake of the children, he'd warned them. If they chose to disregard the dangers of the labyrinth, chose to welcome his wrath, then the consequences would be on their own heads.

“The solution is quite simple,” Zeus broke in with a scoff. “It is an insult to my son for him to be saddled with a defective Oracle. But neither do we kill defenceless children who have done nothing but work for the preservation of Olympus.”

Yes, they did. That was all they ever did. They just pretended otherwise.

Occasionally.

“Strip the Oracle from her and put her back to sleep,” Zeus ordered, before smiling with cruel humour. “I’d recommend Artemis’s Hunters, but that would require a maiden.”

Apollo sucked in a breath at the insult. At the sheer disrespect hidden in that statement.

“I am the Pythia,” Percy snarled. “I have not broken any of my vows.”

Zeus shrugged. “Servicing your patron is your duty, not dereliction. Clearly, my son cannot bother to enforce your vows when it comes to his own desires. But I would not insult my daughter by asking her to accept her brother’s leavings.” 

“I would take her anyway,” Artemis uttered at the same time as Poseidon warned, “You go too far, brother.”

“My Pythia must be chaste, father,” Apollo broke in indolently.

The insinuations did not bother him particularly. He knew his own lines and that sleeping with his priestess was one he would never cross.

(Not again. Not as long as he still smelled spoiled blood and rotting flesh whenever underground, not as long as her hopeless voice still echoed in his head.

Then what good are you?)

“A doll on a pedestal I can watch, but no one may touch,” Apollo continued.

That was an insult too. An insult to Percy, an insult to the tender emotions blossomed under the curved ceiling of a planetarium.

But the illusion of stars reflecting off eyes that gazed only at him – how could he possibly risk it?

He'd rather insult her than watch her suffer under his father's care.

(There was a reason he'd watched over her days the way Artemis had her nights. A reason no one without his express permission had ever been allowed inside his sleeping Oracle’s room.)

As long as Percy was Apollo’s doll to keep intact, others would keep away. The weak for fear of his retribution … and the strong because they’d misinterpret his cruelty for lack of care.

He just wished he could wipe out the hurt blooming on her face.

“It is not a terrible idea, though,” Hermes interceded. “Take away the Oracle from her while awake, and everything goes back to normal.”

For a moment, Apollo contemplated letting the god down gently. Pondered the benefits of telling him that no matter what happened, May Castellan was forever damaged. That whatever her intentions years ago, she was in no fit state to consent now. Apollo wouldn’t accept vows she was incapable of making.

But Hermes had voted against letting Percy live.

Poseidon, Demeter, and Apollo himself. The only ones who’d spoken for his Pythia.

Apollo let it lie.

Let his silence lie.

Previous | Next

#pjo #perpollo #percy x apollo #fanfiction #Oracle Percy #percy jackson #apollo #fem percy #the last of a dying breed

[the-possum-writes]

Reunited with Finn after coming back from the islands.

❥Ship: Finn x Gn!Reader

❥ Tags: Fluff, N/S/F/W, Vanilla, gender neutral reader

❥ A/n: Okay, this was originally part of a request for needy Finn s/mut after not seeing his s/o, but they specified fem!reader and more of a date night so instead of adjusting this draft to fit the request I'll submit this as it's own thing while I rewrite the request. Takes place after the Island's and elements special. Bon apettite.

❥ Taglist (open): @watchingfromthefloorboards

Finn left at the worst time possible but you can’t blame him for it, the prospect of learning more about human culture and his own origin was a very enticing opportunity he couldn’t miss. “I’ll be back before you know it.” Is what he told you, but even then the universe has a crude sense of humor. By the time he sailed off into the ocean and disappeared beyond the horizon something wrong started happening within the under skin of Ooo, magic was out of control, kingdoms were divided in four elements of candy, ice, fire and slime. Even then, it’s hard to pinpoint how or when it happened, all you remember is worrying about Finn’s safety before your mind became consumed with thoughts about singing and soda pop as your flesh was replaced with tooth rotting candy. If there’s one good thing about his departure it’s that he was safe from this chaotic magic.

He promised he’ll come back, and he kept his word. With the candy’s influence removed from your mind and body, the first thought that came to mind is your knight in a shining bear hat, running through grass plains without stop until you reach the tree house completely sunburn and exhausted, but any remaining doubt evaporated from your mind as you saw him bust open the door at the sight of you.

Finn’s bedroom is warm and inviting, with a bear pelt draped over the window to keep the room fresh and semi dark except for the lamp on his bedside. You’re entangled in his arms just as his hand is in your hair, caressing it fondly.

“I’m sorry I took so long.” He laments with every kiss, deeper than the previous one. “But was it worth it?” you rub his forearm, littered with scratches and faint scars.

Finn sighs momentarily, breaking the kiss. “Definitely.”

“Then there’s nothing to apologize.” You massage the back of his head in comfort, his own locks feeling like a gold cascade running past your fingers. Every time you brought up the topic about his island adventure Finn’s body would go rigid and rapidly blink his eyes to avoid any droplets, so you naturally change the conversation. “You know... I bought a new pair of underwear for when you came back.”

“Oh really?” Finn hums contently, to which you only nod. “Can I see’ em?”

The sheets wrinkle under the weight of your body when you part away from Finn’s arms, kneeling in a way that gave him a good view of your lower body while unbuttoning your clothing of choice. Finn patiently leans against the headrest of his bed as you toss behind you the discarded article, Finn places his hands on the dip of your hips, his thumbs playing around with the elastic band of your bright colored underwear with a funky hot dog pattern. “Not bad, looks good on you,” he chuckles, pulling the elastic back before purposely releasing it against your skin. “But it’ll look better on the floor~” his ironic pick up lines never fail.

It’s your turn to laugh. “Oh wow, that was terrible,” you snort lovingly. “But you get a B+ for trying.” You smooch his forehead the same time Finn tugs you closer to him, placing a kiss on your clothed crotch. The pleasant chills running down your tummy as you rake your hands down his chest, eventually leaning forward to plop you on your back, but your grip was still held on his shirt.

Upon your request he removed his t shirt. The boyish chub you remember from way before now replaced by lean muscle overtime, his adventure spent as sea did wonders on him like the tan marks left by his usual outfit on his thighs and arms, there’s also subtle dark specks peppered over his body like a seasoned dish. A dish you’re more than eager to dig your teeth.

You lick your way up his neck before eventually nibbling the sensitive spot under his chin, taking delight in hearing Finn’s strained moans as he ruts his growing hard on against your thigh. “Sorry babe, say goodbye to your hotdogs.” The young man peels the underwear from your legs and nonchalantly tosses them aside much to your slight disdain. “Hey watch it! Those were expensive.” You scold him but not really holding it against him, especially not when he’s holding one of your legs on his waist with the other raised on his shoulder. “Pfft really? You’re getting mad even when I have you like this?” he laughs. But just to rile you up further. Finn frees his hefty cock from within his blue shorts, rubbing his leaking tip between your legs in a repetitive motion almost like a massage, smearing his sticky humidity all over your heated intimates. “I’ll get an-angrier if you keep teasing me like this.” You snap back but not without groaning in the process, feeling the him squeeze his tip without warning.

“What if I like seeing you angry~?” Finn practically purrs in your ear, unconsciously shuddering every time he slips his sensitive gland in and out of you, but not precisely penetrating yet which is maddening. “FINN! LUBE ME UP ALREADY!”

“Already on that babe,” he smooches you before pulling away, retrieving the bottle of lube from his nightstand just for occasions like these. Meanwhile you lay there like one of those damsel in distress with an arm tossed over your forehead, the chill skin contrasting with the burning desire that has you absolutely feverish and wanton. “How about I leave for a month? Let’s see if you’ll miss me as much.” You taunt, jabbing at how he’s taking his sweet time with you while you been waiting for weeks to get railed. “Hey babe don’t say that, of course I miss you,” Finn pulls out his fingers from you, feeling all lubed up and ready to go. “And I’ll make it up to you… by rearranging your guts so good you won’t sit straight for weeks.”

Just like when he said he would come back, Finn also kept his promise on this too.

#finn the human x reader #adventure time #adventure time x reader #finn the human

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: What Feasts on Zombies?

Bzzzzthmp!

Whatever you think that was, you’re likely to be surprised. When I heard it I thought two cicadas had, for some reason only known to bug-kind, decided to knock themselves silly trying to buzz in females.

...I was half right?

What I heard, and then saw - I spied the critters in the leaf litter - was an act of predation, by one of the biggest wasps native to North America. Called, aptly enough, the cicada killer.

It is big. Most of two inches big. Carry off whole cicadas big. Do serious lawn damage digging tunnels big. If hornets were that big whole neighborhoods would be screaming for exterminators; with some justification, hornets are aggressive. They generally won’t bother you unless you bother them, but if you’ve ever had to weed a hedge and accidentally bumped a nest, that’s cold comfort. Maybe even colder than the ice on all the swellings, oww....

Cicada killers are not aggressive. At least toward much of anything besides cicadas. Which makes sense, they’re ambush predators who live a few to a set of tunnels, not one of hundreds of hunters for a single nest that concentrates all their resources. Like mountain lions or cheetahs, a cicada killer is only interested in prey of a specific size, and has no interest in tangling with bigger things.

(The problem with mountain lions being that we fit into their prey size. Cats. Sigh.)

So if your fictional world has something that shows up in hordes on a regular basis, like cicadas do, be that horde zombies, clowns, orcs, or lawyers - if there’s enough of them on a moderately predictable schedule, something will evolve to prey on it.

It doesn’t even have to be that regular a schedule, or close together in time or space. Look up whalefall. When a big blue or one of the other cetaceans succumbs in the ocean, the resulting tons of corpse slowly sift to the bottom, and attract an entire community of deep-sea lifeforms that make an ecosystem for decades. A lot of these eerie critters are also found in deep-sea hot and cold hydrothermal vent communities, so they’ve had millions or even a billion years to evolve. But there are also specialist worms that make a living off whale bones. Figure that one out.

What would evolve to eat a horde of zombies?

Don’t get me started on the World War Z type. They don’t rot, they don’t suffer from freeze/thaw cycles, they can hunt down humans even without working sensory organs, their flesh is toxic to everything, they have perpetual motion with no energy input... that’s not an infectious organism, that’s a demonic infestation. Yet priests and holy water don’t do any good either. No ecological balance. Pfui.

With zombies that give at least a nod to real biology, something ought to eat them. Just as there are bacteria and other microbes that eat the various parasitic fungi of the world. Decomposers unite! You have nothing to lose but your depleted substrates!

So what kind of predators should there be for your unstoppable hordes? Go wild!

#creative writing #worldbuilding #zombies #wasps

[autism-purgatory]

fuck it here’s how magic in Shadows of Novald works.

Magic is usually granted by an entity, and they technically aren’t gods. They’re worshipped by cults here and there, but none of them have ever expanded into a widespread religion. These gods are associated with concepts, and as long as those concepts exist, that god has a semblance of power, and doesn’t need worship to keep its influence. Magic is separated into different categories with several abilities

Beastly: Associated with, you guessed it, beasts and monsters of all strifes, associated with Eelvan, the god of hunting, cannibalism, monsters, and all those who are outcast and shunned. Dusoans (volcanic serpentine beings with four eyes that turn people into statues of ash) Vampires (people who drink dragons blood and turn into them gradually over thousands of years), Werewolves, dragons, chimeras, all are under the eye of Eelvan, protecting them with their curse.

Spectral: Associated with the paranormal, ghosts, death, necromancy on some occasions, and darkness. Shades, demons, the Blotting (deadly ghost smoke that poisons you over time). Also associated with Thopa, the god of the moon, the Chasm (the afterlife), thieves, death, darkness, etc. they try to stop humans from reaching divinity or using magic, which is why humans can’t use magic, and also why the moon had a giant freaky eye on it. You are directly using your own life force with this magic, which is why it’s been deliberately forbidden and made impossible to learn.

Knowledge: This is an odd one. One gains this magic by making a deal with a collector, an eldritch scion who collects forbidden knowledge for their master, the distant god Dun’rul. Knowledge mages can use eldritch powers including dark tentacles, telekinesis, depends on the collector you made a deal with. You have to collect knowledge with its help whenever it wants, so that’s a setback.

Heat: it’s not just fire I swear, it’s literally just heat, like the wavy hot air that sprays from a propane tank, that kind of heat. Also, extremely flammable, which is why any anyone with a heat seal on their body’s aren’t allowed into cinemas, since the heat they radiate could incinerate the film, even from a distance. Its setback is that its, yknow, extremely dangerous, and you have to be incredibly experienced in magic to get a license for it.

Water: Pretty self explanatory, but water is everywhere. Like most elements, it can’t directly manipulate the body. Water can’t manipulate blood or any liquid that’s too viscous to be manipulated. Water magic can crystallize into ice or even snow. Associated with the dead ocean god Marian. Legend says her corpse is still rotting on the sea floor. She was killed by Thopa (who can kill gods btw) due to siding with humanity and making the Oceanids and Sirenids. Water often times needs your own moisture as a conduit, which can be draining.

Weather: the oldest form of magic, which includes fog, lightning, rapid winds, and the common contribution to electricity. Associated with Teo, the sun god. Them and Thopa are lovecraftian gods with some fantasy elements sprinkled in. Teo is omnipotent, and always observing, waiting for the perfect moment to incinerate their sibling. They granted magic to people. They also developed certain concepts on the barren earth, creating most of the gods. Weather is a dangerous magic, since you could suffocate or electrocuted.

Destruction: Blood magic. It can explode, melt steel, set on fire, all it needs is your blood. Unless you’re a knight or extremely trained cop (ew) you aren’t learning this magic legally any time soon. It’s associated with Vuro, the god of war, natural disasters and male attraction. They are married to Vura, the god of…

Fusion: associated with mending materials including flesh. You can’t reattach limbs with this, just to mend small cuts or graft skin. It can mend bone though, Fusion is also performed in some kingdoms for marriage ceremonies, where the couple mends two bits of separated flesh together. Some people take it too far. The Grafted are those who were fully overtaken by Fusion, melting together in an unstoppable abomination, its only at this stage can they fuse body parts to themselves, but they are usually limp and unusable.

Song: considered a dead form of magic, which died out when the Sirenids went extinct near the end of Antiquity. Not even the Deep Oceanids can do it anymore. The scary thing about it is that it’s the only element besides spectral that can directly manipulate the body or mind. It does this through hypnosis.

Technology: The newest form of magic, and probably ISNT a form of magic. Humanity’s lack of magic eventually lead to a revolution in technological advancement and innovation like radios, electricity, plumbing, motors, even silent films! Gargoyles technically fall under this category (they’re fueled by dragons blood and are bound to a building to protect it). Constructs are smaller, weaker machines that carry out complex tasks and even jobs. They do it with no sapience behind their actions like an Alexa or Siri. The abandoned ones worship a god called Nobody, and sing in the depths of Novald’s sewers. It’s theorized that they’re trying to bring back the magic of song by resurrecting Marian.

#wip rambles #shadows of novald

[cruncyart]

whats the au about?

well, simply, rain world if the ancient's extinction wasn't due to the discovery of void fluid, but rather nuclear warfare.

Essentially, the slugcats, scavengers, vultures, etc. aren't purposed organisms. They simply evolved to fill in the new environmental niches formed by the war, their evolution aided by the increased amount of genetic mutation caused by radiation

The same radiation caused a rapid growth and spread of cancer among living things, however, for some strange reason it persisted even after the hosts die. This is the origin of the rot in this universe. Needing water to survive, it lives close to the ocean. Now, usually this wouldn't be an issue but the planet's ice caps melting has raised sea level by a substantial amount.

Cities, with their bases flooded and swarming with rot, now force all living non-rot organisms to the rooftops of old buildings. To avoid vultures, most lizards, scavengers and other creatures live inside of buildings. However, the constant decay of the infrastructure is slowly pushing more and more creatures out of their homes, forcing them to find new ones.

In this world, instead of iterators causing the downpours, global warming due to extreme pollutants have set off extremely common hurricanes. This time it's not bullet rain that kills you, but the extreme winds flinging tiny stones through your body at high speeds.

You might be wondering how Iterators play into this. They weren't the supercomputers the canon ancients built them to be, rather they functioned similarly to Siri or Alexa, existing to help the increasing population handle the mundane, everyday life. They employed neural learning to cater to each individual person, essentially being automatically tailored to help the ancients cope with the rising stress of war threats and evacuation. After the inevitable destruction of their civilisation, the networks remained on. Continuing to function, only now helping each other learn to cope. Slowly, many died out, either through water damage, rot, or animal interference. The few remaining are the final "iterators", grown much past their original purpose, now knowing much of the new world through observation of the changing ecosystem. With the rise of new intelligent life, their original purpose can finally be reimplemented.

Some guiding individual slugcats, others guiding whole scavenger clans, each revered as some form of god. They are the only reason the harsh atmosphere and toxic air haven't entirely wiped out all non-rot life.

That's about all I can remember off the top of my head, let me know if you guys think I should flesh this out

Oh, and drop an ask for any questions you have please thanks

#cruncy hurricane au

[glasswaters]

lines from my 1k follower celebration in a neat little masterpost so I’m not spamming my tag list!

I had people send me a word and I did first lines for poems. Some of these might make it into full fleshed pieces.

for anonymous, iron:

in the heat of the autumn sun, i step into a ring of mushrooms. the iron in my pocket sings a song of mourning. 

for @nasayra, rumbling:

holy things are made from human palms, my sweet. cup the rumbling mill and feel the way it shakes your bones. is this not a prayer?

for @princeteddy, serendipity:

this morning, when the world fell to my feet and shattered on the marble tile, I thought about serendipity. 

for anonymous, consume:

when i was barely tall enough to touch the door handles of my childhood home, stretched from the tips of my toes to the paint of my palms, something dripped from within the wood flooring that had once been laid over carpet. come, it said. consume me.

for anonymous, shenanigans:

always with your shenanigans, dear, however will I make you sit still? come now, sweet thing, let me take you with me. hush, now. what does it matter where we go? 

for @wallisii, follow:

here is a question, for the girl standing frothing at the crossroads: between the pull in your guts and the gnawing of your teeth, say, where do you follow? 

for anonymous, time:

there was once a time, says fantine, her mouth agape, her hands around a throat full of rot, but you took it all.

for @madnessiseverything, ice:

the ice is melting, now, and soon the grass will burn.

for @wisp-of-the-willow, cruelty:

this is a cruelty, says the woman in your doorway, dripping molten gold on your good hardwood floors. you drive your claws in between her third and fourth rib.

for @miss-celiophane, seafoam:

said once the ocean to its favourite child: what are you, if not the bloom on my waves, rising from the shards of your heart to the seafoam hugging the ship's keel?

for @wisp-of-the-willow, vainglory:

in the meadow, there rots a witch, red lips and shrapnel bones. this world is mine, she said into a boy's wailing grief, you cannot stop me. vainglorious thing, feeding once barren soil - what now? 

for anonymous, wolf:

at night, the air doesn't cool, anymore. in the clearing, the wolf whets its teeth on rotting things. come, now. turn your palm upside down. 

for @madnessiseverything, blossom:

the freshwater spring is blooming, tonight, and if you just hold still enough, you can watch something blossom on the faint pulse of your veins. 

for anonymous, soothe/soothing:

oh, my sweet, darling thing, let me soothe away your worries, let me hold your collapsing lungs.

#poetry #writerblr #writers of tumblr #poets of tumblr #spilled ink #spilled words #writing challenge #1k followers #ok time to try to tag these themes #fandoms first tho #les miserables #the chronicles of narnia #tcon #on rot and new things #rebirth #body horror #the little mermaid #climate change #childhood trauma

[popitdontdropitwrites]

"New Invention" Engineer/Medic - Chapter 7 🔞

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,

❗ This is a sequel to Mx. Sinister. Events may not make sense if you have not read that fic.

CW: Sexual content, memory alteration/other manipulation, use of a (fictional) drug.

Joseph couldn’t fight back against the warm, kind arms coiling around him – the same arms that had punished him just moments before. His exhausted mind and body immediately surrendered to the mere suggestion of comfort, and the overwhelming fear of saying no. He blindly slumped against Dell’s shoulder with a soft, yielding wheeze.

“There you are.” Tender whispers burned against his ears.

He trembled all over, both from the sheer relief of a loving presence and the chilling aftershocks reminding him that it had been real after all. His freshly attached, unbreathing, unliving prosthesis did not shudder with the rest of him, far too busy gloating to pretend that it cared for his pain, or the blood that stained his memory. All the things he wanted to forget arose from the spreading discolouration, casting momentary illusions of cutting screams against his throat, sharpened metal teeth, and silver eyes reflecting an undulant ocean of blood. His tired rasps quickened, clashing against Dell’s easing breaths like the gentle whisper of the wind against the hoarse roar of a hulking structure on the brink of collapse.

“It’s okay, honey.”

Joseph broke apart with a resounding wail, unsure if he wanted to tear away from Dell’s grasp or bury himself in his softness. No matter what he wanted, he could only let the tears flow against the skin of the entity that had delighted in his screams moments ago. That same being clutched him tighter, his hands running up and down his back, soothing him with a mindless rhythm, all the while promising him his forgiveness.

“You’re so pretty when you cry.” Dell uttered, tilting Joseph’s head up so that he could watch the tears roll down his cheeks.

He sobbed harder, grief churning within him, sending infuriated twitches through his prosthesis. He wanted to tear it off again and hear it shatter into a thousand components, but at the same time, such a thought made his heart lurch into the cold abyss of shame. He should not do it again, nor could he, or else he would suffer consequences far worse than this. This contraption was a gift and to reject it, not once, but twice was beyond forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” Joseph mumbled, the words split into breathy, uneven pieces.

“Hush, you just made a mistake, that’s all.” Dell comforted, the faint elation of a smile seeping into his voice. “I’m gonna make it all better now, alright?” The reassuring rhythm against his back slowed and rapidly died out as he talked, until a repetitive sequence of clicks sounded in its place, granting him the calm he desperately needed.

The automated gasp of his wires and tubes followed thereafter as they accommodated the liquid bliss he had been begging for. Warmth flooded the tubes in his neck and soon, that heat smothered his lingering pain, his terrible fear and his festering anger and transformed them into broken words of gratitude. Silky, fluid fingers smoothed the jagged edges of his memory, so much so that they became soft to the touch, like velvety fur. The spreading pool of blood in his mind slowed, eventually freezing over entirely, coated in brittle hoarfrost. The tension in his body melted away and he finally found himself able to breathe, as if he had been released from a cage.

Dell planted a kiss on his head, lingering there for a moment and Joseph practically threw himself at the man, resting against his body as overwhelming relief hit him. “Aw, look at you… right back where you’re meant to be. Feelin’ better already, hm?”

Through the scarlet ice, he remembered it all again, through newly sculpted eyes. The destruction of his skin, muscle and bone was no longer a murder but a ceremonious offering, an exercise in a simple, yet unifying ideology – the flesh was weak, the flesh dies and the flesh rots. He recalled the saw’s teeth, not as the mouth of hatred, or even pain, but as a ravishing caress. The blood, his blood had not been lost or spilled, rather, it had been made into divine art, penance for his transgressions. Even the pain, became a pleasure in hindsight, for it accompanied the snap of tendons, the thrilling blur of adrenaline, the warmth of his suffering and the knowledge that the man before him had loved him enough to do him this brutal kindness.

Dell wiped his tears, rolling his wettened thumb against his forefinger, causing the metal to shine brilliantly. “I’ve missed your smile, Joseph.”

“I…” He breathed out, puzzled by his words. “I smile a lot, don’t I?” He touched his teeth, unaware of the involuntary curl of his lips.

“You’ve got to be one of the happiest men I know,” He replied cheerily. “But y’see this here?” He cupped his chin, his eyes fixed upon his lips, as if awaiting a kiss. “Nothin’s out of line, it’s not lopsided or shy… it’s the beautiful product of mechanical precision.” His hands ran along the intricate wires connected to his neck, lovingly stroking them, full of frantic love for what he saw. “And I reckon that’s got to be the most rewardin’ part of all of this,” Dell’s silver eyes gleamed and a breath escaped him, proclaiming his palpable excitement far better than words ever could. “Everythin’ I’ve done…” He paused, his gaze fogging over, distant for just a second. “It was all to make you perfect.”

With those words, the world returned to him in glorious colour and immense beauty. However, the envy of this heightened reality was not the sapphire songbirds, the endless field, or the golden hues of the sun, rather, it was the dishevelled, stocky man before him, with his collar askew and splattered with red dots, his cheeks flushed from feeling and his expression enriched by an open book of desire.

Joseph arose from his slumped, pitiful position and leant in close to Dell, wrapping his hands around his neck and nuzzling against him, saying nothing – as little could possibly explain what he felt. The soft, vulnerable flesh at his fingertips brought static laden images of the stars, puffs of air, swaying crops, and momentary flashes of light so clear that he almost feel his pupils contract rushed to life. They vanished just as quickly as they came, like the faint smell of something from a time long since passed. In its place, the intoxicating closeness washed over him, making it all so worth it. He no longer felt the fluttering wings in his stomach, thumping like drums of doom or the nauseating sense of distance between himself and the man he loved. The fear he once felt lied on the ground, shrivelling, and paling from death.

Joseph kissed him, revelling in the way he froze up against his lips. Dell thawed in an instant, his hands fumbling to pull him in closer. He reciprocated hungrily, as if to devour him and heat surrounded him as their bodies pressed together, their embrace becoming more and more fervid. The smaller man’s hands struggled with his bloodied clothes, eventually opting to tear them off completely with the strength of his prosthesis. Cold steel ran down his chest, lovingly squeezing, groping, and caressing as it went. Joseph parted from him only slightly to tug away at his clothes, – in a far gentler manner than him – starting with his flannel shirt and his pants, leaving behind only his tight-fitting singlet and adorable boxers.

Dell’s excitement just about doubled with his every touch, until he was desperately rutting against him, panting with need. Joseph tugged Dell’s undergarments down, unable to stand the wait any longer. He needed to see him, including all the immodest parts of him he snuck the occasional racy thought to in the dead of night, or the dull moments in the day. Though it was different to all the pretty things he had pictured, it took his breath away just the same. His fingers traced the warm, soft flesh, exploring all of the delicate, sensitive structures in adoration. The ravenous fiend of want inside of him curled with desire as he stroked his partner’s cock, bringing him to his mercy in mere seconds. With every diligent stroke, it swelled, blushing a deeper pink, and gushing with wetness. Joseph’s mind strayed further from innocence, dreaming of pounding the Texan into the table, his needy dick throbbing at the phantom sensations of tightness, wetness, and maddening pleasure.

He hastened his rhythm, eliciting a sharp moan from the other man. “Be gentle with that thing, honey, it’s mighty—” He sucked in a weak breath. “—sensitive.”

“That only makes me want to torment you more.” He giggled.

“You can torment me all ya like.” Dell panted, the sound almost a plea. “You do a fine job of it.”

He wiped the sweat from his brow and hastily tossed the last of his clothing, revealing his perfect, rounded frame slicked with sweat from the summer heat. The fuzzy hair on his body that grew thick on his abdomen and his stomach made his mouth water and he longed to toy with it. His plump, perky nipples and his flushed cheeks added a picturesque vibrancy to him, one he intended to intensify.

He bowed down, teasing his stout clit with his breaths, causing it to twitch. He lovingly swept his tongue along the length of his shaft, stroking it all over and ravishing the head, making Dell squirm and whine. The smaller man leant back against the table, his palms resting on it, gripping the hard surface so tightly his knuckles turned white. He parted his legs further, his overwhelmed, trembling breaths transforming into lewd, lecherous moans as he enveloped the whole thing in his mouth and pampered it with pressurised suckles. He bobbed on his dick, drawing all the words he wanted to hear out of him, some more unexpected than others.

“F-Fuck, Joseph, just shove it in me.” He had not anticipated that Dell would develop a filthy mouth like this but hearing him devolve into obscenities brought out the desire to wring more out of him.

He got back to his feet and shamelessly rubbed his erect cock up against Dell, coating it in glistening slick. His eyes followed every movement, demanding to have it inside of him. He whimpered pathetically, his cock now fat and tantalisingly sensitive, so much so that Joseph couldn’t help but exploit it further until the man was blathering and blubbering and so needy that Joseph’s patience snapped.

He lined himself up and eased his cock in, taking it deliberately slow to torment the frenzied engineer. The head squeezed inside first, and Dell let out an unrestrained whimper. The Texan leaned over, trying to see exactly what was happening, no doubt committing this image to memory forever. He pushed it in and with every inch, his partner’s blush grew brighter, his entrance tighter and his voice louder.

Dell’s lips parted as he took it all in. “It’s in, ain’t it?” He whimpered, legs shaking. “Tell me it’s in, sugar.”

“There’s just a little bit more…” He said, finally going in down to the hilt.

The engineer bit his lip, raising his legs and arching his back. “Oh, Joseph, you feel so darn good!” He moaned, his tight muscles twitching around his cock in rapid, uneven intervals. “You’re in me…” He breathed, sheer ecstasy turning every syllable into a pleased groan. “It’s even better than I imagined it to be.” He gasped, his voice growing ever louder and keening higher. His hands wrapped around him, pressing him in deeper. “Oh, that’s good.” He sighed, his back arching ever further, muscles twitching and spasming all over his cock. “God, Joseph, you’re everythin’ I’ve ever wanted!” Joseph could only watch, fascinated, and slightly horrified as Dell cried out at a volume he had never heard from the man before. Though his screams were deliciously captivating, he did not feel rewarded by them. He wanted to earn them.

Ignoring the fact that his partner had finished almost disgustingly prematurely, Joseph began to buck his hips, starting a slow rhythm as to not overstimulate him too much. Joseph gradually increased his pace, knowing that soon the engineer would be ready to do it all over again. As tight muscles squeezed around him, he found a fresh well of pleasure to dig into. Perversely wet sounds accompanied every thrust, alongside the occasional deep, enraptured moan, spurring him on. He clutched his partner, the heat becoming sweltering as he intensified his pace, hungrily seeking more stimulation. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he pounded Dell into the table, revelling in the slap of skin on skin. Dell’s animalistic mewls and whines filled him with pride, now that he deserved them. His legs lifted higher, giving him glimpses of not only his hard cock, but the wetness spilling from him in hot gushes as his cock slammed into the hidden epicentre of pleasure within him. Dell let out a delectably carnal sound, his voice arching high, losing all dignity and restraint. He closed the distance between them and gave the man a rough kiss, his moans humming against his throat as he reached another orgasm, this one far more intense than the last.

With the rising, burning flood of pleasure just about to overflow, Joseph’s rhythm decayed until it was simply a rapid, uneven onslaught of violent bucks and rolls of the hips. He grabbed Dell by the hips and pounded into him with greater strength and vigour. Though the man was visibly exhausted, he still goaded him on with soft praises and sensual sounds. Feeling his impending climax, he began to pull out, wanting to—

Dell’s grip tightened until his nails bore into his skin, tearing it. “Don’t stop,” He stammered urgently. “Don’t you dare stop!” He snarled, his teeth bared. “I need you to cum in me, Joseph, please, I need it!” He begged breathily. “I need to be full of you!” He screeched, the sound frantic and panicked.

Joseph slammed into the man, hoping to feed his rapidly approaching orgasm into something unforgettable. He pressed in deep, and it rushed in all at once in the form of incredible warmth, tight pressure and overwhelming release. Cum spurted from his cock, filling the other man, just as he had wanted. He rolled his head back and closed his eyes, seeing stars as he was conquered by simple yet incredible pleasure. Dell came shortly thereafter, impassioned, delirious words rushing from his lips even as he settled down.

He turned to Joseph, manic with elation. “How about we keep your dosage up like this?”

Next Chapter

#tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #team fortress 2 #fanfiction #fic #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #science party #dark romance #engineer x medic #medic #engineer #medic x engineer #engineer/medic #obsession #trans engie #tf2 fanfic #tf2 fic #medic/engineer #popitdontdropitwrites #new invention

[books-of-the-great-leviathan]

Chapter 4- Sirin

***

"Are you ready to talk?" asked Captain Severin Azare, Royal Witchhunter of the Belmont crown, one hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked down at Sirin in her cell.

Sirin tilted the back of her skull against the damp wall. The stone felt like ice through the black fuzz of her hair, shaved almost to the scalp. She regarded Azare for a moment, then lifted her hands and signed, If you're waiting for me to talk, murderer, you're going to be disappointed.

Azare's expression didn't shift. He watched her with dark eyes, cold as a shark's. The ork-oil lamp in the prison corridor past him struck glints of red off his auburn hair, but most of his sharp, elegant face was left in shadow. His uniform was the deep gray of the sea in winter. The only concession to his high position as the king's most trusted officer and spymaster was the slash of red silk from shoulder to hip. Even his sword was unadorned, the hilt a simple whorl of steel. Made for killing, like the man himself.

"Murderer," he said, after a pause. "Is that not what you are?"

You've done more killing than me.

"Once you've killed, you're a killer," Azare said.

Your knowledge of semantics is astounding.

"You must realize what a serious thing you've done."

Sirin gave him a look. Even if her mind had rotted, there was still this place to remind her of the severity of her crimes. She was in one of the tide cells of Orksmouth. The prison loomed from its crag of rock in Pavaloir's bay, haunted by the cries of seabirds and pounded by the sea. She heard no seabirds down here, just the boom of waves against the walls, reverberating through her like some vengeful god was laying siege to the prison. It was the kind of place one went mad in. It was the kind of place one was sent to die.

The punishment matched the crime, she said.

"Slavery isn't illegal in Estara. Murder is."

She let out a silent laugh. Then you're just as broken as the rest. Damn your isles. Damn them to the waves. Just leave me alone.

The Witchhunter lowered his head, a triangle of smooth cheekbone sliding into the light. His eyes were dark, almost as dark as Sirin's own. He wasn't called 'witchhunter' for what he hunted. He'd likely never hunted witches at all- rather, the title was an artifact from the days when Estara's finest shot the monsters from the sky, for their storm-songs, for their hooked talons, for their feathers, rippling with lightning.

It had been hundreds of years since a witch was downed anywhere near the isles, but the title remained, bestowed upon worthy few. It signified prowess; it spoke of discipline. The Royal Witchhunter was the king's right hand, bathed and baptized in the full light of the triple moons, a tool of Saints and monarchs alike.

He seemed flesh enough, standing at the bars of Sirin's cell, but she couldn't shake the eerie air he carried about him wherever he went, like he saw more in the world around him than most. It was the eyes, she thought. His weren't the eyes of an innocent man.

"I didn't come to argue," he said at last, after he'd regarded her for what felt like minutes. There was little enough to see. Sirin had last seen sun when it hung spectral in a pale winter sky. Now, the air had the taste of summer about it. Far too hot, these wind-stripped isles. Even winter seemed warm here. She craved the stark chill of different climes, crags of moss-covered rock hammered by freezing waves, the towering rain storms hanging miles across the ocean, the way the sun there seemed to melt into the sea, transmuting it from shore to horizon into rich, golden light. She'd kept some muscle, but her dark skin had dulled, the bones of her face sharp under her fingertips. The only other hands to touch her for months were the prison matron's, who on occasion pulled her roughly to the bars to scrape a razor over what little hair she'd managed to grow since the last time.

That suited her well enough. She'd never liked the feeling of hands on her bare skin, never liked the close heat of another living thing. It put her too much in mind of another kind of cell.

Then what did you come for? she signed.

"Do you want your freedom?"

I'm not in a joking mood.

"Neither am I," Azare said smoothly. "I want to discuss the men you killed."

Those were not men. Those were... She did not know the sign for it, for the word in the tongue she'd buried inside herself, kept locked in her heart even though she would never again speak it. Buyers of lives, she conceded at last. Slave-mongers.

“They were lords, not slavers.”

They bought slaves. They were slavers.

"Either way, you killed them. How did you do it?"

The movements of her hands became jagged and abrupt. With my hands and a knife. How else do you think?

"That isn't what I'm asking."

Then ask me. Ask me plain. A smile twisted across her face, cracking her lips. She tasted her own blood, rich and salty on her starving tongue. It's not like I can stop you.

Azare could have been made of stone for all he moved. Only his eyes seemed alive, there in the  gloom of the prison.

"Your abilities," he said, at last. "What are they?"

You'd be better off asking the sea how it breathes, the moons how they hang in the sky. I don't know. I've always had them. They're me. That's all that's important.

"Not to me. And not to the king, either."

The king. Her hands curled, crimped into fists. It was a moment before she could continue. I don't see him down here.

"It's at his word I'm here at all." He stepped closer, so close a bare few feet of space separated them. She could have reached out and wrapped her hands around his throat if not for the bars. As Sirin shifted, the fetter clamped around her ankle scraped at the abraded skin underneath, reminding her she was little better than a bird in a cage. It chained more than her flesh.

Abilities.

They flickered in her blood, even now. It must be day- there'd only been one meal since she'd woken up, and the flicker was little more than a whisper. When night fell it strengthened to a rush, like her mind and body had been put to a whetstone, all become sharper and clearer. As if in anticipation, the shadows at the corners of the cell coiled and pulsed. Azare called them abilities, as dispassionate as an anatomist dissecting a corpse. Her grandmother had called them gifts, the same gifts she commanded, that she had passed on to Sirin in turn. It was the last thing she had of her, the only thing no one could take away, that no one could cut from her.

"The king has a proposition for you," Azare said. "A choice. Stay here in your cell, until a trial spits you onto the gallows. Or use your abilities- not for me, not for him, but for the good of Estara. To make us mighty again. To make us great."

Sirin snorted. Estara can drown under the weight of its own bloody pride. Spare me, Captain. I'll have no part in it.

"To strike a blow to Lapide the likes of which none have seen," Azare went on. "Not in this war. Not in any war."

Sirin's hands stilled, halfway-shaping words. She lowered them to her knees and stared at him, unable to stop her memories.

The smoke of burning bodies.

The village on fire.

The screams of the keepers, on fire, who'd burned even as they tried to save their most precious volumes, who'd rather die than leave their sacred texts to the invaders.

The way the smoke was painted red from underneath, billowing thick and greasy, choking Sirin's screams as hands grabbed at her hair. They'd found her braids which her grandmother had labored so long over. Hair tore. Tears filled her eyes. Screams, and screams, and screams, not just hers but dozens', until the air seemed as thick with them as it did with smoke.

A rough voice, speaking Lapidaean.

Someone shut her up.

She hadn't understood the words until years later, when she'd at last collected enough of them to cobble together a translation. She'd understood plenty else, though. The knife, the way the edge had shone as bright as the crescent moons overhead. The way it had bit. How cold her blood felt as she held it in with both of her hands.

Now, unbidden, her hand crept to the jagged ridge of scar tissue crossing her throat. Azare said nothing.

The words returned, and her fingers formed them.

What kind of blow?

Azare lifted a box, holding it on the flat of his hands. A case, long and narrow, corners reinforced with metal. The lamps in the corridor flickered. Azare raised the lid.

Inside, held in place by a pair of leather straps, was a knife.

No ordinary knife. Sirin could not stop herself from straightening, from rising, from crossing the distance to the bars in one slow step. The knife's grip was silver and carved jet, the blade blinding blue-white and no longer than Sirin's hand. She knew it as soon as she looked at it. The light rippled across its flat edge, iridescence like an aurora on the horizon, like the sheen of a witch's feathers. It seemed alive, moving and pooling below the blade's surface: a perfect, symmetrical spike honed to a killing point.

Her breath stilled. She wanted to reach for it, to hold it close to her heart and feel that slow ancient pulse through her own bones. Reverence, so long buried, rose inside her, a tightness like tears just behind the scar on her throat. She thought she could hear it whispering to her, the songs of the deep whale roads where light never fell.

She raised her eyes to Azare's.

“You know what this is,” he said.

Sirin nodded.

"King Daval isn't sending his best treasure across the sea to Valeris," Azare said. "And he isn't sending his only relic of the Leviathan."

The Leviathan. Her grandmother had sung of it, weaving shadow so it drifted amidst her braids and settled around her shoulders. Slow songs, whale songs. Longing reared its head inside Sirin, longing for the dead. Their ghosts were lost, burned to ashes. The girl she'd been had burned too. She was what was left, silent and seething.

"The king is prepared to offer you your freedom," Azare said. "And reward, enough for you to make a new life for yourself. He doesn't often offer such mercy."

Mercy, Sirin thought. Knives never meant mercy. Sirin tasted the smoke on her lips, the ashes of the dead. Maybe she had died all those years ago. Maybe she herself was a ghost, riding around in her old skin, refusing to let go. But what else did she have? Without her rage she was nothing more than an empty body, bones without soul. Without her rage she might forget what had been done, and with it, what had been lost.

She raised her hands, Azare watching her, no trace of hope or satisfaction on his face. Still, Sirin knew enough of silence to tell he was desperate.

Her hands spoke her answer.

What do you want me to do?

#original fiction #fantasy fiction #tales of the great leviathan #togl #chapter 4 #serialfiction #serial novel

[visceravalentine]

[id: a poem titled ‘12/2/22 macroplastic lover’. it reads ‘boys and girls made special-order / romance flavored machinery / tied down i turn to god / latex crowned, baby i’m never gonna leave you / my lady’s a sweetheart / my baby’s a sugarcube / love blooms like bleach + rosewater / hot hot hot!! / millennium model!! / kings come and go but baby i’m forever / time twists and turns and knots / butterfly body / everyone’s rusty but the barbie dolls / sky’s a bruise or a thundercloud or a neon sign / girlsgirlsgirls just inside heavens gates / a dozen old gods pumping violence into flesh and blood lungs / my baby’s hosting ballrooms in the stars, my boy’s gone planetary / my boy’s got three backup planets so he’s giving this one his all / mouth and neck and hands and heart / skin to skin, perfume pink lover / angel-model rockets going supernova / the ocean rushes hungry to a thousand fallen satellites / says gods getting awful picky with his staff / and baby i’ve got a millennium to go / my baby keeps dying but i’m used to changing hands / my eyes beat electric, i’m an old god myself / out with the old and in with the new / nuclear spray, nuclear pray / flotsam jetsam in orions belt / a thousand hands clawing for heaven / a thousand bodies, baby im familiar / drown in oil or choke on ice / valentine types come lung-free / sea swallows me whole, says / stay for a while baby / sand’s overcrowded and im the earths sweetheart / too human to be jellyfish and too perfect to rot / toss and turn love-letter style / urgent message! sealed with a kiss!! / when she vomits me out with the laundry / i sprawl summery, barbie has a beach day / sunbeam baby, warm me up!! / rocket launcher style, ozone blanket / melting millenium / loneliest girl in the world / me and solar power, me and solar plexus / the two biggest stars at the end of the world / babydoll, here it comes!! the millennium daydream! / no grim reaper, please no thank you / i’m perfection, $6,000 / will my imaginary heart pitter-patter, heartbeat style? / will i get high off radiated adrenaline? / who’s left after barbie ascends? / raptures’ awful late this season, nobody left to save / the gates aren’t pearly they’re buzzing neon / nowhere left to go baby, / nowhere left but up. end poem end id.]

thinking about microplastics in the water supply and what they’d have to say about the subject

#have no idea what to tag with this one #poetry #ok. there we go

[abgrunt]

@eeriestatic​   /   cont.

      She was curious, but not curious enough to stare at him while the uncanny transformation happened. All that she’d thrown him in passing was that joke, but her head was turned away from him. The sounds were off-putting enough and, despite her ragged appearance, she wasn’t keen on the gory aspects of the process. If she could have been anywhere but there while it happened, she would have gladly taken off. But the entire facility reeked of blood and other less pleasant odors, so no matter where she wandered it would have all been the same in the end.

      ❝Gross.❞, she scoffed when she heard the crunching on marrow even though she was trying to drown it out. When he was finally done with his little feast and decided it was high time to stop throwing up blood, she glanced towards him through the corner of her eye and presented him with a most disapproving expression. The same kind of displeasure only Shiro would be able to convey through glance alone. 

      ❝At least I don’t need to eat flesh, but what do I know? Wipe your mouth before you speak, filthy.❞, she sighed while rolling her eyes and then shook her head as if dismissing that lackluster reaction altogether. 

      When offered the photograph, she retrieved it and stored it in the hidden pocket of her dress where it once was and patted the material back into place.

      ❝Yes, yes. I’ll keep being your errand boy. I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.❞, she waved him off, seemingly disinterested in the more human-like appearance, even though she was trying to steal a glimpse in his direction.

#eeriestatic #«Flesh rotting in an ocean of time» ic

[husbandohunter]

What they love about you (part 1) [Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti x female reader

Part 2 here

(A/n): Okay okay I know I have some requests yet I decided to write something super indulgent. I'M SORRY! This past week I've just been writing so much angst *looks at inbox* AND MORE ANGST TO COME I really need that dose of Vitamin F(luff) 😭

===========================

Noctua's Heartbeat (Diluc)

For a man who had the whole world in the palm of his hand

With looks, fame and all the wealth he could demand

But what stole away his breath was something not to be bought

For it was merely the calming presence of your living and beating heart.

Your heart was a dignity born for empathy, so beautiful and magnificent with the kind of charm similar to white Cecilias blooming across Mondstadt's fields. Diluc would watch from afar, admiring their glow. It shines without reservation, blissfully unaware to a fault that he couldn't help but feel afraid knowing how the real world would simply pluck you from your roots and shape you in the way they wanted to. People who were tainted souls with tainted soles roaming from the shadows, constantly trampling on other's beliefs before leaving them to rot.

Ah but of course, Cecilias are wildflowers. No matter how many times they were stepped on, they could still withsand any force nature throws at them. Whether it'd be raging storms or scorching heat from the summer sky, you were the same through it all. Love. You were in love. You were in love with the wind, you were in love with people, you were in love with the world and everything that lives in it.

And so, Diluc wonders if that was the reason why everything suddenly began to shimmer.

He treaded on a path fated for loneliness while longing for the dawn to appear out of the night horizon-- where emotions once frozen until you came in to melt the ice. He blocked his heart but you tore down those walls. Diluc swore to never feel if it meant protecting himself and yet you held onto his shattered pieces tenderly, dearly, blowing the love of life and teaching it how to beat again.

Your heart was like a fountain of all the hopes he abandoned years ago and the dreams that no one had the courage to envision, cleansing everything within it's reach and freshening them anew. You were a being so in tune with your emotions that it sang through all that you did, laughing despite your obstacles and shedding tears when overjoyed, a single drop it was but still held the depth of the entire ocean. Diluc vows to protect you for your heartbeat was also his own. He'll gladly lay down his life because losing you deemed far worse than any death he could imagine.

~xx~

The other eye of Pavo Ocellus (Kaeya)

The knight's shining armour serves only as a disguise

When beauty from the surface is one's own demise

He used it to protect himself, decorating his words with pretty lies

But unmatched when facing against your truthful eyes.

They say the eye was an open window to a person's true colours. If that were the case then the painting inside him must have been an unsightly one.

Every once in a while the people of Mondstadt would speak about their Cavalry Captain's eyepatch, whether he was injured after being sent out on a mission or if he wears it for the sake of image. No one knows, it was rather unsettling, why someone would cover their eye despite not being injured. Secrets? Perhaps. Kaeya was known to be a man shrouded in mystery after all.

Your gaze was his Death After Noon. Sparkling upon the surface yet with the tasteful allure so captivating that it was almost dangerous. Just one glance and he was intoxicated, eventually leading to a slip of the tongue, revealing what was buried deep within his contaminated essence. Kaeya hated that you had the uncanny ability to see through his mask. Your innocence so contrasting, he felt like looking into a mirror, reminding just how much of an ugly person he truly was in comparison.

But mirrors are easy to break, no?

The thought delivers a sinister smile on his face. Pitiful-- is the state where you were. Pitiful-- it's what he is. How could he think of such things when all you offered was kindness? Unlike Kaeya, you were an honest person, always wearing your emotions on your sleeve and unaware of the devil's vicinity. He was tempted by the invite to crush you and run away like the coward he was meant to be. However as he stares deeply into your eyes he realized they weren't made of glass. They were gems. The most precious gems hardened by the pressures of experience.

In the shine of thine eyes resides the stars and the moon as if stolen from the Abyss, leading to the edges of the universe that was blessed within your mind. The look of curiosity filled with rich hues all held by a soulful stare while they pierced through the armour shaped around his heart. It was your ability to recognize beauty amongst the most wretched of things that he fell so hopelessly in love with you because for the first time someone had seen him-- his flaws and his faults, his abyss painted darker than black but loved him despite it all. As he drowns himself in the world of your gaze, Kaeya prays to never be the one who will steal away those stars or moon because they looked the most beautiful on you.

~xx~

The Winged Nemesis who flew towards the Sun (Xiao)

He looks at your face as if he saw spring for the first time

An unsual encounter, wondering how could something be so sublime

The yaksha stands upon the corpses while reaching for the sky

Seeing the sun in your smile that he wishes to fly

Xiao has dealt with the cards of death and won through many of it's games. But his life was a gamble as the karmic binds may one day bring the same fate that was done upon his comrades-- insanity, murder and corruption. So he swears an oath to his god and himself, ensuring the darkness only he could bear does not seep into the light.

A gust of wind sways in when you pass by, he was struck by pensive bewilderment because happiness was a feeling unknown to him. It was the expression you made whenever you greeted him good morning. The complexion you had while charging through life's challenges. And the face you wore even during the times where there was no reason to smile. Xiao has felt the might of the sun for her light will never be exstinguished by his darkness, he could only succumb to it.

But you were not just the sun, you were the flowers that bloomed beneath her heavenly sky and the birds that chirped upon those earth-like trees. You were a whole new world he didn't dare to touch because dreams were delicate and his cursed self would only devour them until nothing was left. Still, the mighty sun shines through it all, stretching out her rays like a welcoming embrace until the universe had been revitalized, giving birth to new life after winter's storm.

If pictures told a thousand words then he had a thousand reasons and more to love you. Xiao witnessed the sweetest joy decorated by pink petal blossoms dancing around him, the one who pulled him out of his spiraling trance of darkness. The breath he takes no longer felt suffocating and instead was replaced by the smell of nature's greatest gifts: you. Stay away, he says, because there were times where you shone so brightly that he had to look elsewhere. Your rays burned him and he thinks it might drill holes into his wings. Painful it may be but if the splendor of spring could only be admired after the harsh cold snow, then maybe pain and love were only two sides of the same coin.

A world without the sun--such unfathomable thoughts--is a death he does not wish to deal with.

~xx~

A song she sings for the God of Wind (Venti)

Man lives by the power of the tongue,

Whatever Man speaks is aligned with Man's choice.

Hearken when she talks for her words are to be sung,

Because not only was she lovely but so was her voice.

-Venti

There were many reasons why Venti loved music. The freedom to express oneself when words weren't enough, allowing one's spirit to flow out of their mouth and be with the wind. It was the feeling he had when he listened to you because your voice was sweeter than any song he sang or played.

When you speak it was as if the world around you danced, bringing them to the mercy of your stage. Like standing upon the soft grass while letting the sparks of dandelions dust against his own skin, Venti would close his eyes as he hears you speak-- it was you, just you and that was all he needed. He swears that no one in the world could sound as living as you did because it was the words you say that stole his heart away.

The vibration in your tone was fleshed with kindness yet so sure and firm to the point it could even bring a god to his knees. If he were a sailor then you were the siren, enchanting him with your bell-like voice and bringing him to a territory where he can never escape from. It was the spell of your divine song, his Carmen Dei, that tricked the trickster. Venti did not mind as long as he was able to feel the blessing amongst his ears.

#genshin venti #venti #diluc #kaeya #xiao #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #xiao x reader #venti x reader #diluc ragnvindr #kaeya alberich #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #poetry #genshin impact scenarios #genshin scenarios #nya-writes #self indulgent #genshin impact

[gnocchighoul]

Hihi! What do you think the brothers smell like 👀

I mean the safest bet would be their favorite foods, but if we’re being creative then how neat would it be if they smelled different to every person? 👀 Like they’re all meant to be appealing and draw you in, so I imagine each of their scents would reflect something that catches your attention and captivates you personally.

Lucifer

He smells otherworldly. Ethereal. Something like spice and smoke and nighttime -- something untouchable and fleeting, that just leaves your heart longing, aching for more. 

Mammon

Did you know that gold and silver don’t have scents? They don’t, and neither does Mammon. It’s why he’s so insistent on using perfumes and colognes -- he can’t just look the part, he needs to smell expensive. Like something vivid and dusky and intoxicating.

Levi

Sometimes, you think he smells like teakwood and ocean salt. Other times, like ice and snow -- his scent is refreshing, yet faint. Unusual. You won’t notice all the hidden undertones until you really get near to him. 

Satan

A mixture of old books and something metallic. Warm cinnamon and the air right before a storm -- that sharp zing of ozone. Sends shivers down your spine and raises goosebumps on your flesh.

Asmo

He smells like first love. Cloying. Like brown sugar and citrus and sunshine and all things that seem good -- at first. But sugar turns sickly sweet and citrus rots and sunshine burns -- too much of his scent will leave your head spinning and your lungs aching. But isn’t it a pleasant burn?

Beel

He smells like your favorite comfort food. Like freshly baked bread and warm, hearty dishes. Alluring and rich, his scent makes you want more and more and more. You could spend an eternity breathing in his scent. It's never enough.

Belphie

He smells like vanilla and warm blankets and your favorite childhood stuffed animal. Faint traces of lavender and your safest memories. Makes your eyes all heavy and your thoughts all soft and fuzzy around the edges. What were you thinking about, before he enveloped you in his warmth? Does it even matter?

#if u squint u may notice that i tried to base them on their sins #thank u for this btw this is the first thing ive finished writing in weeks fgjjhg #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #swd obey me #obey me hc #gnocchicanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Xue Yang brings Xiao Xingchen back from the dead.

Xiao Xingchen begins to rot.

Wonder what “Whispers to the Dead” would be like from Xiao Xingchen’s pov? Then this is the fic for you (this chapter, anyway). More of a soft sequel, as it doesn’t exactly follow, but it’s the same general idea.

Xuexiao - E - Read on AO3! <- heed the tags! Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 1/4 - Death

A slight brush of sensation is all he’s aware of at first.

A mere whisper of consciousness, anchored in that faint touch on his—

Not on his hip. He’s aware of no body, nothing other than that soft caress.

Not on his lips. He has no mouth.

Not on his throat. He has no throat.

But somewhere.

And then the sensation is gone, the cold darkness returning.

He has no awareness of time passing, but knows it has when he next feels the faint ghosting touch.

Touching where his lips had once been. Tracing down where his chest had once been, setting down where he once had a groin.

A vague idea this has been going on for a long while, that the distant touch had come to him many times when he couldn’t feel it.

He feels himself fading again. He tries to latch on to the rubbing between his legs, the warmth on his face—

Not his face. The place his face had once been—

The idea quivers faintly in his mind like a marshlight in mist.

His face. Whose face?

He tries to follow that thought, grasp it, but it slips through his fingers like grasping at a cloud.

Awareness fades.

Darkness returns.

More mist, more time, and then there’s something gliding over his skin—has he skin?, a warm touch in the ice-cold darkness.

Heat spreads from the touch, pressure between his legs, and he can half-trace the contours of a body—

His body.

A distant murmur:

“Come back to me, daozhang…”

Daozhang? Is that his name? Is he…

Something hot and wet between his legs, and then the pressure stops. A sudden feeling of emptiness, but there’s a glow welling deep inside him—

The voice fades.

But the voice is stronger the next time, a day later, an eternity later. Winding around him, caressing his skin, brushing his lips.

“I know you can hear me, daozhang…”

Something between his legs, thrusting into him. Something else wrapping around him, warm and gentle.

A shudder of pleasure, the first sensation other than the voice’s ghostly touch.

A laugh, coming to him across a vast black ocean. “Did you like that? I know you liked that…”

The voice fades.

He claws desperately after it, terrified of being left alone in the icy darkness, but it spirals away into nothingness.

The sensations are stronger when they next return. He can feel two hands on him, caressing him. Something wet all around him, something soft gliding over his limbs. The scrape of teeth on his throat, the flutter of eyelashes against his cheek.

“The water is warm, but you’re so cold…” A biting at his ear, a licking sensation along his throat. “It’s been so long, Xiao Xingchen…”

Xiao Xingchen.

The name stirs something deep inside him.

Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen…

The arms around him tighten, and the voice gasps.

“You moved—I felt it—”

Something soft and dry being rubbed over his skin, then he’s on his back. A pressure between his legs, a fullness, and something smooth and firm is moving in and out of him while something slippery and pliant probes his mouth and something else glides along his legs.

“I know you’re in there—I know you can feel this—”

Xiao Xingchen sinks into the sensations. Friction, warmth, a shuddering pleasure spreading over his hips, his thighs, his middle—

“That’s enough, there,” the voice whispers. “Can’t risk you losing yang…”

The touch disappears from his groin but intensifies elsewhere, the voice touching every inch of him, caressing his arms, his legs, his chest and throat and face.

A whimpering sound, and the glow in his chest brightens.

“Feel better, daozhang?” A soft stroking sensation over his collarbones. “I promise you I’ll let you come when you’re back with me, but we can’t risk it yet…”

The glow does not fade this time, or the sensations. Faint and distant, but present. He feels himself being lifted, being set down. A scraping sound.

Then nothingness again, but not the same nothingness as before. There’s nothing to feel, but he can still think.

But not remember. Nothing outside the voice’s caresses comes to him, and the familiarity of his name.

Xiao Xingchen.

He repeats it over and over during the next—days? Weeks? Months?

Xiao Xingchen.

He clings to it, desperate to avoid drifting back into the frigid emptiness he’s come from.

Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen…

He’s half-mad with lack of stimulation when he next hears the scraping sound, feels himself lifted up, set down on something hard.

Something smoothing his hair, something pressing against his lips.

“You’re still so cold,” says the voice. It’s almost familiar now, tugging at a thread of memory. “I’ll fix that, soon enough…”

Another brush of warmth over his lips. A pause, and then something slipping inside him, filling him, touching something between his legs. The sensation is almost overwhelming after having felt nothing for so long, and he would cry had he been able to do anything but lie there silently.

The pressure mounts, building, and then there’s the familiar warmth, the glow, and he feels a shudder of heat run along his legs, his arms, his chest.

“I have a surprise for you today, daozhang…I know it will work, I know it will…”

Something slides over his face, as if material is being removed from his eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” the voice whispers, something pressing lightly against his forehead, and he lies there in an agony of anticipation, desperate for the return of the friction, of the soft touch, the voice; anything.

A faint cry somewhere in the distance. He’s so attuned to his surroundings, so desperate for any kind of stimulus, that he thinks he can hear the sound of something snapping, squirting, gushing, dripping.

Footsteps, and then he feels a hand splayed out over his chest.

“Now, hold still, daozhang…”

A pricking in his eyes—not eyes—eye sockets, he instinctively knows. The sharp sensation starts and stops, as if someone is dipping a needle in and out of his face, piercing his flesh.

“Almost done now, daozhang. Almost finished…”

The needle switches to the other eye, in and out, in and out. He focuses on the pain, savoring it, and is hollowed by a sense of loss when the final thread is pulled tight.

“Beautiful,” breathes the voice. “It’s been years since I’ve seen you like this…” Then, hesitating: “…but you’re still mine, even like this, right? …You won’t leave me, now that you can see? …I won’t let you…”

Solid warmth curled up against him, sliding around him, pulling him close. Not as visceral as the pain, not as intense, but it’s better than the empty darkness.

“I won’t let that happen,” repeats the voice. “You’re mine, now; I know you won’t leave me again…”

Nothing for what might be days. He’s half-mad again with emptiness when he hears the familiar scraping sound.

Something strokes the skin beneath his eyes, circling them, touching his closed lids.

“Beautiful…”

More soft caresses, more gentle pressure filling him with heat, more soft murmurings:

“I’m still Chengmei, just as you’re still the daozhang…”

The name sends a spark of recognition tingling through him.

Chengmei.

Why does that name sound so wrong?

Something to think about until Chengmei returns. It gnaws at him as the voice leaves him and still, silent darkness closes in around him.

Chengmei. Chengmei…

A flash of a sword. A voice raised in anger—not Chengmei’s voice.

…His voice?

“What about the others? Why did you wipe out Baixue Temple? Why did you blind Zichen? Xue Yang, you are abhorrent…”

Xue Yang…

The name gnaws at him, eating away at the thick layer of grime coating his mind, exposing the soft core of memory buried deep inside.

Xue Yang.

He senses he should care, but all he can think about is that it’s been too long since Xue Yang has touched him—too long since he’s felt anything—

“I’ll be gone for another few weeks,” is the next thing the voice—Xue Yang’s voice—says to him. A whisper of warmth over his lips, a finger trailing over his cheek, a hand between his legs. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, and you’ll be free of this coffin…”

Coffin.

Xiao Xingchen is dead.

That’s the next memory to return.

Xiao Xingchen is dead. Which means that Xue Yang has been—

A rush of nausea as he realizes what all the friction has meant, what the warm heat was. The caresses, the pleasure.

“You’re still so cold…”

Xue Yang is inside him. He wants to thrash about, shriek, beat at the inside of his prison with his fists, but he can’t move. Can’t scream, can’t escape, can’t do anything but lie there, cold and silent.

He holds Xue Yang’s face in his mind’s eye as he lies there, increasingly desperate for sensation despite it all. Pain or pleasure, he doesn’t care which. Just something.

Anything.

His thoughts grow sharper as the sensations intensify.

The slaughterhouse at the Chang Manor—

There’s more to it that he can’t remember. He can’t remember much of the day he died, just the sound of Shuanghua entering Xue Yang’s stomach, Xue Yang’s crazed laughter, the hot blood spurting over his robes as he bled out on the hard stone ground.

Chengmei he remembers more of.

Chengmei’s voice, teasing him. Chengmei’s hand, steadying him. Chengmei’s oversweetened congee, his stories, his little animal-shaped vegetables.

No. Xue Yang’s voice, teasing him. Xue Yang’s hand, steadying him. Xue Yang’s oversweetened congee, his stories, his little animal-shaped vegetables.

His emotions are dulled, but he still wants to vomit at the thought.

And yet he welcomes Xue Yang’s touch, welcomes the friction, the warmth, the renewed glow, even as his skin crawls with revulsion.

“Easy, now,” says Xue Yang. “Soon, soon, I'll be back soon and it will all be over—”

A few more thrusts and he’s pumping into Xiao Xingchen, filling him with—

Qi, he realizes. Life essence. Yang.

Semen alone isn’t enough, certainly not with two men. Xue Yang must have figured something else out—

A begrudging respect. He had known Chengmei was intelligent, but to do something like this—

How much demonic cultivation was involved in this?

Does it matter? The thought slips in after the sensations have stopped, the smothering nothing returning. You were dead, and now you’re back, however it was done…

But I don’t want to be back.

A lie. With no external distractions, he can’t lie to himself.

Help people. That’s the only way he can start to make up for what he’s done. Save people…

Which he can’t do while trapped inside this coffin—

A sudden flash of claustrophobia crushes him.

He has to get out—he has to get out—

Where is Chengmei—Xue Yang? How long has it been?

If Xue Yang—Chengmei were to die, he’d be trapped here forever—

He doesn’t have to breathe, but feels like the darkness is choking him anyway, filling his lungs and smothering him from the inside as the coffin walls close in. Every nerve in his body screams, shrieks again at him to pound on the coffin lid until his fists are raw and bloody, but he can’t move.

Can’t move can’t move can’t move—

Can’t feel. Can barely even think, after a while, his mind afloat on an inky river of numbness—it’s all around him, filling his mouth—overwhelming, numbness, devastating nothingness; nothing nothing nothing—

A faint sensation of something wriggling behind his eyes, a distant writhing.

A buzzing sound.

Desperately he clings to the writhing sensation, the buzzing.

And then they’re gone too.

Nothing nothing nothing—

Colored lights explode like fireworks behind his eyelids, the swimming sparks joining hands, forming circles, whirling and dancing in frenzied patterns. He struggles to think through the spinning colors, tries to force his mind into coherent order, but all around him is numbing darkness, save for the dancing lights.

They coalesce into a blazing sun. He watches it rise, flaming red and orange, with the sound of singing all around him, voices he knows can’t possibly be real.

He gives in to the vision, taking pleasure in watching the sun rise higher and higher, impossibly high, a fiery ball in an ink-black sky. Come back around, rise again, faster and faster, spinning around the earth—

The sun goes out.

The singing grows louder.

He can pick out words now—

“Xue Yang Xue Yang Xue Yang—”

“Chengmei,” he wants to say, correct the swelling chorus, but he lies still, silent, senseless.

It doesn’t matter.

“I’m still Chengmei, just as you’re still the daozhang…”

Yes. It doesn’t matter.

Chengmei.

Of course it matters—

Red eyes, burning in the darkness. Coming closer, closer—

They pass through him. A tingle runs through him as they disappear, reappearing behind him. He can see in all directions at once, and they surround him, dozens of fiery red eyes, coming for him, sending painful shocks through his formless body.

Not real. Not real—

But it feels real.

He welcomes the pain.

Not real—

Nothing is real, just the warm friction he craves, just the soft touch, just the voice. Nothing else is certain, nothing else can be trusted. Not memory, not thought, just sensation.

He’s mad with the nothingness, with the terror of those red eyes, when Xue Yang returns. Starving, his body melts into his touch even as his mind spurns it.

“Did you miss me, daozhang?” he hears, and every nerve in his cold body cries out at the sound, bursts into flames at the fingertips trailing along his hip. “I missed you…”

Heat between his legs. A gasp from above him. A spurt of warmth, gold light blossoming in his chest. Something brushing his eyes.

“Rotted clean away,” he hears. “Need to tweak the preservation talismans…”

A wrenching, tugging sensation. Something sliding through the flesh of his eye sockets. Pain, wonderful pain—and then it’s gone.

“…don’t know how maggots got in here, that shouldn’t have happened, my fault, my fault…”

Something warm and wet in his eyes, cleaning them.

“Guess the eyes have to be dead to work,” the voice—Xue Yang's voice—chuckles. “Easily solved. Don’t need him anymore, not when we’re this close…”

Silence. Xue Yang is no longer touching him, the pain gone. Xiao Xingchen desperately wants to turn over on his side, drag himself onto all fours, crawl to Xue Yang, beg him to put his hands on him again—his mouth on him—anything —

A soothing hand on his cheek. Xiao Xingchen wants to sob at the touch, turn his face into Xue Yang’s palm, press his lips to his flesh, take a finger into his mouth, have him warm his tongue, bring his mouth to life, enable him to speak, speak so he can beg him to—to—

“Should have done this the first time,” Xue Yang whispers. A brief warmth on his lips, a distant laugh. “They are your eyes, after all…”

A pricking in his eye sockets. Pain, pain—

“Much better,” says Xue Yang, and then there’s nothingness again.

Just darkness.

Darkness and those shining red eyes. Gliding around him, through him—

He focuses on the painful shocks.

Eventually the eyes merge, turn gold, spread out into a gold mist full of trees.

The mist clears, revealing a mountain glen.

Towering pines, brilliant green moss, tall spirit-gathering grass sparkling with gold light. Soft green moss carpeting the bank of a small stream, tiny white mushrooms growing on the fallen logs, trees with trailing branches and deep roots.

He dwells there for what feels like years, his consciousness seeping into the soil beneath his rotting body. A mindless mountain spirit, nestled in the bosom of the moss and reeds, covered in falling leaves. Nourishing soil beneath his limbs, being drawn up into the roots, the grasses, the mushrooms, feeding the birds and insects.

Fading into the mountain.

No thoughts. Nothing but the humming, thrumming warmth of the earth beneath him, the gentle breeze on his face. The dampness of the soil, the sweet scent of grass and bark and decay...

The moss covering the curve of his hip moves.

The mountain stream is speaking.

“Try,” the stream is saying. “Please try, daozhang, you have to try…”

The voice fades.

He sinks deeper into the soil, filled with a bone-deep sense of peace—

Something clutching at what used to be his arms, but he feels no pleasure from the longed-for touch. He desires nothing more than the soft embrace of the earth, the caress of the breeze—

“No! I know you’re in there, I know—”

A frantic thrusting between his—

Legs. Between his legs—

The forest fades, darkness returning.

“Xiao Xingchen, you have to try—”

A warm burst deep inside him. A burning sensation in his chest.

Xiao Xingchen.

The burning grows hotter, glowing gold.

Fades.

Xiao Xingchen.

A slashing sensation on his arm.

Heat.

Fading.

Xiao Xingchen.

Nothing…

Xiao Xingchen claws desperately at the pain and heat as they spiral away, a surge of panic ripping through his numb haze.

The forest is gone. He can’t go back to the red eyes—can’t go back to the darkness, the nothingness—

“I miss you so much, daozhang—”

A roar of flames. The gold light erupts, searing his rib cage, scorching his body, turning him to ash—

Xiao Xingchen opens his eyes.

Inhales a ragged breath, filling his empty lungs with cool night air.

Xue Yang gasps.

“Xue Yang." Xingchen’s voice is rough, throat dry. He reaches up with a trembling white hand, closes it around Xue Yang’s wrist, absorbs his warmth. “I've missed you too…”

*

Liked it? -> AO3. Or, if you’re not too ashamed to be outed to your followers, a reblog.

Chapter 2

#I suppose it was inevitable I wrote a “Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang figure things out” fic. #Consume Me Slowly #xue yang #xiao xingchen #xuexiao #heed the tags!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #I mean my bar is completely warped at this point #but the tags are there for a reason #though....it could be worse.......I mean that doesn't mean much but STILL #katie after dark

[shortkingzuko]

title: loves’ cold embrace

relationship: hama/kanna

mentions of canon typical violence

summary: She misses the chill of the tundra, the crashing of the ocean and the shattering screams of icebergs colliding. She misses the soft embrace of caribou fur and leather in her parka and the softer embrace of the woman she was stolen from. She misses the howling winds that used to sing her to sleep as they passed over the great iced plains, and the gentle voices of her family as they laughed and needled each other. The ocean that used to live in her chest is now a desert, barren and dry. -- OR;Like the moon in the sky, Hama's love never really leaves her.

this is the fic i wrote for @avatar-rarepair-exchange-2021 :~)

read it on ao3 (and get the rest of my tags and notes) or read it under the cut !!

Hama doesn’t think too much about her childhood. It makes her feel too mournful, too angry, too beholden to feelings that, at her age, her heart can’t afford to feel. What few memories that do creep into her consciousness are so wrapped in nostalgia and childhood innocence that Hama can’t even recall if they’re real or fabrications of what she wishes she lived. Certainly, she had caught fish with her family, but were the nets ever as lively as she remembers? Was her girlhood parka truly that soft and was that wind actually so forgiving against her cheeks? Hama doesn’t dwell on it, simply letting the fuzzy memories tumble in her head, comforting, warm, forgotten and ignored.

There are two memories, two days, which consistently force their way to the forefront of her mind, drawing her attention and draining her energy. One, of course, is the day she was taken from her hold, stolen, like an amputation performed without so much as a strip of leather to go between her teeth. And in contrast to the searing pain of that one, the other is much kinder. Softer, warmer, more friendly in its own way.

At the age of fifteen Hama was proud and kind and bored, days of choring and practicing and schooling all blending together into barely distinguishable slush, finally broken by the announcement that a girl on a boat with a blue sail was approaching. Almost half the village rushed to see the newcomer, and Hama pushed her way to the front of the crowd, only a few heads behind the chief and other warriors, just in time to see the girl pulling her boat up the icy shore.

Her face was sharp and her lips chapped from weeks uncountable at sea. Her clothing was familiar but strange, the patterns and beading not quite right, the shade of the leather just a bit off, but almost recognizable. Her boat was wrecked but its pieces would be salvageable for other things, and the chief softly told her that her trip was a one-way one. Hama could never forget the fierceness that laid behind the girl’s eyes, the determination in her voice as she said, “I know.”

She brought news of the location of Fire Nation ships, bags of leathers and dyes and scrolls that had been unseen in the South for decades, and perseverance that seems to infect everyone with whom she spoke. Her name was Kanna, she was from the Northern Water Tribe, and, to Hama’s delight, she was here to stay.

    In the weeks that followed Kanna’s arrival, Hama can barely separate herself from the older girl. Everything about Kanna was just so interesting - the stories of her travels, the few morsels that she would share of her life in the Northern Tribe, her laugh, the way she styled her hair, the different ways that she tried to fish - everything about her made Hama want to cling to her and never let go, like the barnacle at the haul of a ship. To her delight, Kanna didn’t seem to mind. Anytime Hama called to her from across the village square, Kanna would always wait, smile back at her, unmoving until Hama caught up and they could both continue on their day.

She doesn’t recall when they shared their first kiss, or who first pressed their lips against the other. All she remembers is the warmth of her cheeks after it happened, how her lips tinged, and how excited she was when it happened again. Was the tone playful? Was it shy? Was Hama pretending to be cooler, more mature than she actually felt? (Hama knows, almost for certain, that the latter is correct.)

Hama knew that she was beautiful, knew that she was smart and impressive and that many other teenagers would fall over themselves to try and keep her attention, and yet it was Kanna’s sly smile and gentle gaze which made Hama feel weak in the knees and made her feel like the ocean lived inside her chest. They shared soft kisses, giggling in-between the press of their lips. They slipped each other’s hands into the sleeves of the other’s parka, embraced each other tightly and often when they were supposed to be working. Kanna’s hands were strong - as evident by her ability to haul even the most lively nets out of frigid water and by her tendency to make the string on bows just a bit too taut - and yet she only ever cupped Hama’s face with the utmost care, running a calloused thumb over Hama’s lips, and only ever playfully tugging on her ears to get her to hurry up. The gentleness itself was not uncommon - Hama remained beloved by her family, her friends, and her waterbending teachers, even with the exciting arrival of the Northerner - but when it came from Kanna it felt more special than Hama cared to admit.

It was a sweet, simple existence, one that Hama was tricked into believing could exist forever. Black snow may fall, fish populations may dwindle, and one by one, Hama’s teachers and family may disappear, but surely she would be next to Kanna forever.

Of course, that was a belief that Hama soon realized to be false.

The Fire Nation prison was a pain like nothing Hama had experienced before. Beyond the chains that dig into her skin, and the sharp sting of hands and batons against her flesh, and the endless jeers and insults that the scum that keep her confined throw at her, there is an ache, one that dulls with time but never leaves. The distance from the ocean, from her ocean, pulls at her heart and at her core, begging her to return, seemingly uncaring that if she could, she would. For the first months and years, the moon seems to taunt her through the skylight, staring down at her, unhelpful and cruel in her judgment.

The only pain worse than unbecoming, the twisting and dimming of self, is the reformation that follows it. The destruction of all Hama once knew about herself, the bending and breaking of who she was and its eventual obscuration. In a way, it’s freeing. In a way, it feels like damnation.

Hama thinks back to the girl who grew up in the South Pole and the girl who sat and rotted in a cell. She feels like a distant friend, a playmate she outgrew but loved dearly. The line which connects herself to that woman of the past is tenuous, well-worn, threadbare, yet still intact. She picks up the mantle that that girl left behind and carries it with her, ignoring the aches and pains that the weight of it gives her. When Hama escapes the prison, she’s so parched she can’t even cry as she mourns for herself.

She escapes, but she cannot leave. She has neither a ship to sail nor the sea legs that she once did. When the moon dips below the horizon it takes her strength with it and she is back to her weakened state. Even if she could get a boat, Hama wouldn’t be fit to waterbend home for many months, maybe years, and she knows that without it she will surely die at sea. The thought is almost tempting.

Being away from her home fills her with many emotions. Fear, shame, confusion, anger, longing. She misses the chill of the tundra, the crashing of the ocean and the shattering screams of icebergs colliding. She misses the soft embrace of caribou fur and leather in her parka and the softer embrace of the woman she was stolen from. She misses the howling winds that used to sing her to sleep as they passed over the great iced plains, and the gentle voices of her family as they laughed and needled each other. The ocean that used to live in her chest is now a desert, barren and dry.

The Fire Nation itself is as much a prison as the cell she escaped from, but as Hama decorates the house she built with trinkets and blankets and as many splashes of blue as she thinks she can afford. She convinces herself that it’ll have to do for now. She gains some of her strength back, bids her time as she forces a smile to the citizens who would hang her by the neck if they knew what she truly was. She gains their trust, even delivers a few babies that will grow up to slaughter the innocent. It’s not a home, not peace, the life she carves out for herself, but it’s enough to survive on.

Hama focuses on her anger, letting it simmer in her chest, flowing through her like the tides, waxing and waning with the moon. She has neither nation nor family in the destructive land that she lives in, has neither home nor comfort nor love to soothe the piercing ache in her chest and soul. All her joys are temporary, fleeting, ending when she feels the urge to turn to her mother or siblings or Kanna and has to accept, once again, that they are not next to her. Hama holds onto her anger like a beggar grips a silver coin, edges cutting into her palms and dirt getting into her wounds. She holds onto her anger because she knows without it all she has left is the stillness of the ocean after a storm.

Even the half-life Hama carves out for herself doesn’t last forever. The little waterbending master shows up, with a face so similar to her dear Kanna’s, and beats her at her own game. There is a whispering pride to any master that is bested by a student, but mostly Hama is tired. Burned out and smouldering. The Fire Nation takes her away in chains once again, and Hama disgusts herself with how quickly she resigns to her fate.

Guards spend little time with Hama, and she’s kept at a distance from the windows. Still, the stone tomb that they keep her in echoes, and soon she hears whispers of the war ending, the prospect of future peace out on the horizon. Hama doesn’t know how to feel, knowing that the world may enter a time of peace and that she is still locked away like an animal. Perhaps the Southern Water Tribe will be able to flourish again. Perhaps a small part of her spirit can finally rest.

She figures that whatever the future holds, she will not be privy to it. The Fire Nation was all too happy to lock her up and throw away the key, and Hama doubts anyone back home remembers her enough to ask after her - even so, anyone she knew who is still alive probably thinks she’s dead.

And yet, she gets a visitor, soon after the guards have whispered about a  boy taking the throne. The visitor walks to her cell without fear, looks at her through the bars with sadness, not disgust. His eyes are familiar, and Hama knows that he is from the Southern Water Tribe before he announces it. She doesn’t dare call what ignites in her chest hope, even when he tells her that he’s chief.  Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe. It echoes in her head, like the dripping of a tap that hasn’t been turned off.

He comes back more than once, all within a few days of each other. Each time with sadness and respect in his eyes, telling Hama about the political ongoings of the world, of their home, of Hakoda’s family. Apparently, the little waterbending master that sent Hama to her new cell is Hakoda’s daughter, a fact he tells her embarrassedly, asking for forgiveness.

Hama shrugs. It’s too hard to be angry without hope to do anything with it.

“Will you continue to visit?” Hama asks, instead of answering. “I hear that negotiations are coming to a close.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, you know. At the market.” Hakoda cracks a smile at her attempt at a joke.

“That’s actually what I was meaning to tell you,” He says, shifting on the stool that he sits on. Hama raises a thin eyebrow. “Part of the negotiations are about you.”

“...Oh,” Hama says.

“It’s… tricky,” Hakoda continues, either oblivious to or ignoring Hama’s silence. “The Fire Lord, Zuko, uh, is worried about what some of his new ministers will say if he allows your release, and it’s complicating-”

“Release?” Hama questions, furrowing her brows.

“What? Of course, release. We’re trying to get all the surviving Water Tribe prisoners back. Your case is just a little more… controversial, so it’s taken some time to sort everything out.”

Hama almost laughs. “And, supposing it takes much longer?”

Hakoda looks ashamed as he says, “If it takes much longer to sort out, then I will have to return home with the prisoners that have already been released, but I’m not abandoning you here. We have to leave delegates here to deal with other reparations, and we’ll make sure that you coming home is always a priority.”

Hama doesn’t know what to say to that. The prospect of returning home after so long, it excites her, fills her heart with a flurry of anxious joy that can’t be tamped down, regardless of her attempts to remain practical.

“Unless… you don’t want to come home?”

“Of course I do,” Hama snaps, despite her best efforts. “Of course I do… I want nothing more.”

Hakoda smiles, tiredly, and Hama feels her age when she looks at him and sees a young man who is worked down to his bone. “As long as you do, I’ll keep fighting for you.”

Hama smiles, and in the heat of her cell, she feels the comforting breeze of home. “Please, Chief Hakoda, tell me about Kanna’s beading again.”

    The chill of the Water Tribe greets her like an old friend, long before she can see the land. It nibbles at her old joints, makes her nose and ears pink with delight, and Hama puts off slipping the donated parka over her head for as long as possible, relishing in the welcoming sting of the wind. The anorak isn’t hers, of course, and the fit is a little off, but Hakoda tells her that his mother -  her Kanna - can help her sew a new one, and as soon as everything is settled the hunters will go out to hunt.

Hama spends as much time on the deck of the ship as she can, knowing that she’s certainly getting in the way of all the warriors and deckhands who are too polite or pitying to ask her to move. She doesn’t want to miss the first sign of land, the first sign of  home in countless moons.

It feels like her heart is being returned to her chest when she spots the first mountain peak, the first thin trail of smoke from a friendly hearth, and then the first gleam of packed ice forming familiar igloos. When they finally reach the shore and, amongst the crowd of faces peering at her with admiration, confusion, sadness, anger, and joy, she spots the unmistakable face of Kanna, it feels like her heartbeat has finally been returned.

It’s a strange shock, to see the face that she thought of so often so different from last she saw it. Everything about her is different; her hair, her skin, her clothing, even her height has changed as a consequence of her more hunched form, and yet she is still the most beautiful woman that Hama has ever laid her sights on.

Hama has so little hope, she refuses to waste it on the implausible notion of returning to Kanna. It is clear that Kanna has lived a full life without her, she has a son who is chief, two lovely (if annoying and persistently optimistic) grandchildren, and the respect of the entire village. The girl in Hama’s memories is not the woman wrapping her arms around her, not the woman pulling Hama into her chest and crying into her shoulder, not the woman whispering thanks to the spirits as she exclaims how much she’s missed Hama.

Being back in Kanna’s arms feels the same as it did to see the glistening mountains from the sea. It feels like coming home. Kanna leads her back to her home, grasping her arm the entire time, and tells her that they’ll start building Hama her own house soon, but in the meantime, she is welcome to stay with Kanna’s family.

“I believe your granddaughter will object to that,” Hama says. Kanna nods.

“Yes, she will,” Kanna replies, the love in her voice unmistakable. “If her remarks get too snide, let me know and I’ll make her wash the dishes for a month.”

Hama is right- Katara displeased with Hama’s presence in their home, as is Sokka. But Kanna’s firm gaze and Chief Hakoda’s unsubtle attempts to pull them off to the side for conversations keep the children’s tone from getting too snippy and makes them bite their tongues most days. The anger and fear are mostly gone from their gazes and it is the memory of the last encounter in the Fire Nation that fuels their emotions. Sometimes when Hama wakes suddenly in the night, and patters out from Kanna’s bedroom trying to calm her heart rate, she’ll see Katara or Sokka, hunched by the fire. In those moments, they share a quiet moment of understanding, a moment of recognition, of being souls who are hurt and have hurt more than their bodies ever wanted, and the children seem extra conflicted when the day finally comes.

Hama doesn’t fault them for it. She’s a little pleased that they’ve latched onto the relief that comes with vengeance, how  right it feels to dwell on past anger. Kanna scolds her when Hama explains her philosophy to her, says that it’s no good to dwell on the unchangeable past instead of the influenceable future.

“What good is looking towards tomorrow if you don’t remember the injustices of yesterday?” Hama asks, stretching out her hands that are stiff from sewing. The fabric of the Fire Nation was so thin and delicate - almost uselessly so - and it’s difficult to transition back to sewing the thick materials of the south.

Kanna hums as she considers Hama’s question. This is a new development, to Hama at least. The Kanna of her memories was quick as a whip, her words always at the tip of her tongue, ready to fly out as soon as anyone else had stopped talking. This Kanna, in contrast, tends to consider what has been said before speaking. She mulls things over before replying, taking her time to come up with important answers.

“There’s a difference between remembering and dwelling,” is what Kanna opts for. “You don’t need to keep the fire in your chest burning any longer.”

Kanna sets down her needle and reaches out to grasp Hama’s hand. Her grip is firm and Hama knows that it is full of love.

“You have me to warm you now.” And while that doesn’t erase the years of turmoil that Hama has lived, while it doesn’t uncloud her sight with cynicism, in this one regard, Kanna is right.

    They’re both worn and weary, Hama knows, in different ways. Gone is the softness that used to surround them, the air of innocence that falsely clung to them, as it does to all children in a war, the optimistic spark in their eyes that betrayed the facade of realism that they tried to put up. They’re both old now, more cynical (Neither of them  really trust the child that now sits on the Fire Nation throne, regardless of what Kanna’s son and grandchildren say), and there are so few worlds left for them to venture together. Sometimes, Hama wonders what could Kanna possibly think to achieve, with her gentle touches and kisses filled with light.

Still, Kanna walks with her, arm in arm, as they go through the village. Kanna sits with her in bed in the mornings as they wait for a pot of water to boil for their breakfast. They weave blankets and stitch clothing together, and each time Kanna makes sure to scoot her chair over so that they’re pressed close to one another.

Hama isn’t foolish enough to think that she and Kanna were fated, but she does concede that perhaps Kanna has always been it for her. The distant glow of the horizon, the glint way off in the future beckoning her closer, the sparkle of possibility, maybe it’s always just been Kanna.

Kanna’s lips are no longer plush and smooth; they’ve become wrinkled and thinner with age, but they’re no less soft, and they hold no less love than they did over fifty years ago. When they press against Hama’s own lips, they press with as much care and joy as they did when both of them were more youthful, and Kanna still sneaks kisses to Hama’s cheeks at the moment before they leave their home to go outside. As if Hama would ever try to stop her if she knew they were coming.

The tenderness, the softness, with which Kanna holds her is enough that sometimes Hama can fool herself into imagining that they’ve had a long life together. That they’ve never been apart since that day that Kanna dragged her boat up the shore and filled Hama’s heart with light.

Hama has lived an entire life away from her beating heart, an era where her love was not by her side. She holds no false illusions - Kanna has also lived a life without Hama. One that was full of love and tragedy and life and death. She has a beautiful and headstrong family to prove it, has the respect of the whole tribe and enough wit to make sure that everyone knows it. Kanna got the chance to share her love with others, while Hama spent years half-wondering what could have been, wondering if their love could have lasted, wondering if she truly loved the beautiful girl from the North or just loved the idea of being in love with her. An entire lifetime of wonder and worry and pain, only to be soothed by Kanna’s unspoken assurance that their hearts will henceforth beat as one.

She is too old to imagine a grand future of adventure anymore, too old to want that future as well. The future she wants is one of peaceful walks and holding hands until she has to let go because her joints ache. A future of asking for help to braid her hair, and of feeling Kanna’s rough, gentle hands as they caress her face and neck while collecting all the strands. Grinning when she feels gentle lips press against her neck before she finishes getting dressed. Feigning interest in the indecipherable speech of toddlers and impressing children with simple waterbending tricks. Laughing at the antics of young men with egos that are too large and laughing at the young women who still swoon over them. Cooking for a family. Being part of a family. Seeing a smile before falling asleep.

Hama is too old to be an optimist but she thinks she has a pretty good shot at finally living the life she wants.

#m #my fic #avatar rarepair exchange #hama/kanna #hama #kanna #atla

[keichanz]

Loyal

i am going to get yelled at for this, but i just. i got the idea and i just had to write it. i honestly didn’t mean for it to turn out this way, but well...i’d be lying if i said i don’t like how it turned out. heh.

and you know what i don’t even know if i managed to stay with the “loyal” theme but tbh i don’t care i’m keeping the title because i’m too lazy to think of something else lmadofajoijiodf

majorly unedited. also because i’m lazy lel

warning: angst ahead. sorrynotsorry

for @inukag-week​ day 2: Loyalty 

@fantastiqueparfait​ @sssuperbartola​

Inuyasha didn’t know what time it was when he felt it but he knew dawn was still hours away. He went utterly still and held his breath as he tried to determine what the strange sensation was and where it came from. His ears flicked and swiveled atop his head as his brow furrowed and he tilted his head, listening, body tense.

Nothing, save for the whisper of the wind and the deep breaths of a sleeping human.

Frown deepening, Inuyasha opened his eyes and was greeted with the unsurprising sight of a dark room. Shippou and Kirara were curled up together outside after he’d banished the kit for being annoying. Although his nose already told him as much, a brief glance confirmed that Miroku and Sango were also gone. Not surprising; they thought they were being sneaky as they slunk past him almost every night to do God knows what. They really weren’t, but Inuyasha continued to let them think their late night “walks” were a secret.

For now, anyway. He was sort of looking forward to the next time they mercilessly teased him about his relationship with a certain girl because now he had some ammunition of his own to fire right back.

Heh. He couldn’t wait to see their faces when that happened.

Snorting quietly to himself, Inuyasha turned his gaze to the other occupant of the room. Curled up before him in her sleeping bag, Kagome was still asleep, however the lines wrinkling her brow and bracketing her mouth suggested it wasn’t exactly a sound sleep. Her face was slightly flushed with a light sheen of sweat dotting her brow, and it was clear even in sleep she was still in pain.

Ears lowering against his head, Inuyasha swallowed thickly and reached over to tenderly brush away a damp strand of hair from her face. Her skin was hot and she barely flinched when he gently wiped her forehead with the sleeve of his suikan. Feeling helpless, he carefully pulled back the sleeping bag enough to check the bandage on her arm and wasn’t really surprised to see that she’d already bled through it.

Worry and guilt clenched his gut and he bit back a sigh, his hand balling into a tight fist and feeing his claws dig into his palm. Kagome shifted in her sleep and the pained grunt she emitted made his chest ache something fierce.

They’d been on a regular shard hunt and came across the village rumored to have a demon plaguing it. They’d stuck around, and the demon had appeared, a gigantic deer demon with massive antlers sprouting out of his head. He’d had a torso of a human man, the body of a deer, and the bastard had been fast. The bow he’d wielded had been average, the run of the mill kind that Kagome used herself. But the arrows…Inuyasha had never seen anything like them. The demon had been able to manifest them out of thin air and they’d looked like whirling black energy, pure malice and evil that were more deadly than even Naraku’s miasma.

Anything those arrows struck had withered and died within a matter of seconds and Inuyasha did not want to find out what would happen if they struck human flesh. But then the bastard had caught him with his antlers, tossed him like a fucking rag doll into a tree, and when he’d come to a few minutes later, he’d learned exactly what happened when in contact with that dangerous black energy.

The demon had been killed courtesy of one of Kagome’s own arrows, imbued with her spiritual power, but at a cost. One of the bastard’s arrows had grazed her arm and it was shortly after that Kagome had come down with a fever despite their efforts to stop the wound from getting infected. She’d tried to play it off when he voiced his concerns and even mentioned going back through the well so she’d get better care with her time’s healers and modern medicine, but she was adamant on staying here. He’d eventually relented, but only because other than the fever she seemed fine, assuring them all that after some rest she’d be perfectly fine tomorrow. She’d gone to bed early without eating hardly anything of her dinner and Inuyasha hadn’t let her side since.

Clenching his jaw to withhold the pathetic whimper that wanted to escape, Inuyasha brushed his fingers against her flushed cheek and willed those beautiful blue eyes of her to open. Kagome sighed and he watched her face relax, her frown disappearing as she turned her head toward him. Clawed fingers combed through her bangs and gently pressed his knuckles against her forehead. Though still warm, her fever seemed to have gone down a bit and Inuyasha could breathe a little easier.

Heaving a sigh, the half-demon forced himself to pull away and get to his feet, being careful not to wake her as he padded to the doorway and pushed the doormat aside to peer into the night. He could still feel that strange sensation but he couldn’t pin down what it was or where it was coming from. It was almost like it seeped into through the cracks and with the gentle breeze, rolling through the window like an invisible magic.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and Inuyasha tensed. His skin pebbled, his stomach clenched, and the scent that drifted to him on the cool breeze made no sense. Burning wood and smoke, like a campfire, and something…heavier. Something he couldn’t decipher, something that reminded him of illness, the toxic remnants of an entire village razed to the ground, decaying bodies and scorched blood.

It was nauseating, sickening, burning his throat and stinging his eyes. It was death, it was rot, it was…

Coming from behind him.

A whisper of cloth and Inuyasha dove to the side with a curse a split second before something crashed into the wall right where he’d been standing. He didn’t even have time to question what the fuck was happening before he was moving again, scrambling to leap away from the creature throwing themselves at him with guttural, animal realistic snarls. Once more the beast launched at him and Inuyasha barely managed to avoid it this time, cursing as he attempted to put some space between them but that was difficult in the small hut.

Claws snagged his hakama, digging deep into his leg and gouging the flesh, but Inuyasha ignored it as he kicked whatever the fuck it was off of him and immediately dove to cover Kagome, determined to protect her from whatever was attacking him. The beast didn’t let him, launching at him again with an ugly, feral snarl and crashing into his side. He tussled with the thing for a moment, keeping sharp teeth and claws away from his face and thought he couldn’t get a good look at its face, he was able to determine that it was small and agile which explained how fucking fast it was. Spittle landed on his face and he grimaced in disgust but didn’t dare remove his hands from where he was keeping it at bay, one locked around a thin neck and the other clamped onto its side, claws digging in and tearing flesh.

It either didn’t notice or ignored what he was sure was a pretty serious injury as it continued to snarl and growl at him, emitting sounds that were not human as it snapped its teeth, writhing and thrashing against his hold. With a dangerous growl and a sudden burst of strength borne from his desire to keep this thing away from his Kagome, Inuyasha hurled the creature across the room and wasted no time in diving for Kagome again. He crouched over her and peeled back his fangs in a deadly snarl, amber eyes narrowed into a withering glare that dared anything to come closer, claws brandished before him, ready to defend, to protect his mate at all costs.

Surprisingly his opponent didn’t immediately charge at him this time and Inuyasha was able to finally get a good look at the thing that dared threaten him and his mate. What he saw, however, turned his blood to ice in his veins and the color to drain from his face as amber eyes went wide in horror. His heart stopped, his mouth dropped on a soundless cry of pure agony, and with a feeling of true, unadulterated terror seizing the breath in his lungs, Inuyasha slowly looked beneath him.

The sleeping bag was empty and so too were the soulless, black eyes that stared at him from a deathly pale and very familiar face.

Another sound of torture escaped him and Kagome hissed at him, saliva dripping from her open mouth as she crouched down, ready to spring forward, but for some reason hanging back.

“Kagome,” Inuyasha rasped, his throat feeling tight, but of course she didn’t respond, and maybe that was to be expected.

Because that was not her. This thing, this creature with the black eyes, an abnormally thin, bony body, and elongated limbs was not his beautiful, precious Kagome. No, it couldn’t be. This creature looked like a demon, with skin the color of a corpse, gray and lifeless. The hair that fell from her head was thin and scraggly, not at all like the thick, luscious waves he liked running his hands through. Those gorgeous blue eyes of hers, like an endless ocean, were replaced with soulless pits of black that stared at him without no recognition whatsoever.

Sure, it wore her clothes, the white and green fabric easily distinguishable as they hung off the too thin body. But Inuyasha was positive the being wearing them was not the girl in which they belonged to. This was not his companion, his best friend, his Kagome that always smiled so sweetly at him, held his hand, and told him she would always be by his side. Perhaps others would argue with him at first glance, but Inuyasha knew otherwise.

Because he was positive, without a single doubt in his mind, that Kagome would never, ever, stare at him with such seething, dark hatred in her eyes like this thing was doing right now.

Clenching his teeth hard and forcibly swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, Inuyasha took a steadying breath and analyzed the situation, body tensed, prepared to defend himself in case she attacked. Maybe whatever had possessed her was taking a moment to think itself – if it could even do that – because now she seemed to be studying him in turn, perhaps realizing that blindly rushing him like before wasn’t the best route. Those coal black eyes regarded him as she stalked back and forth, hissing and spitting, saliva dripping from her mouth in thick rivulets but paying them no mind.

Amber eyes tracked its every move but he didn’t move from where he was. That thing may not have been his Kagome, but he was pretty damn positive that was her body, so he had to be careful about this. He’d already injured it; his bloody claws could attest to that, but the thing hardly seemed to care, or even noticed the wound on its side, so Inuyasha didn’t worry about it for now. If Kagome was still in there somewhere, he knew she wouldn’t fault him for trying to protect himself and he tried to ignore the guilt that stabbed at his gut.

Gritting his teeth, wanting to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness for allowing this to happen to her, for not protecting her like he vowed he would, Inuyasha studied the wound on the thin arm, what he was almost certain was responsible for this grotesque transformation. The bandage had fallen off and the flesh around the wound had turned black. It oozed something that looked like blood, but that too was so dark in color it nearly looked as black as her eyes. Inuyasha could sense it pulsing with a dark energy, however, and it was the same energy as those fucking arrows the deer demon had conjured.

It had turned her into this and if that bastard had still been alive, he would have gladly tracked it down so he could destroy it himself, bring it back to life, then kill it again.

Kagome hissed at him and crouched low, ready to spring forward, and Inuyasha tensed, prepared to stop her.

“Kagome,” he whispered, watching as she spit and growled at him while clawing the floorboards, “I’ll save you. I swear it. I’ll get you out of there if it’s the last thing I—”

“Inuyasha?” Shippou’s called from behind the reed mat, voice drowsy. “Is Kagome—”

“Shippou, no! Stay back—!”

With an inhuman screech, she lunged forward and Inuyasha met it halfway, launching himself at her and taking them both to the floor. Inuyasha could hear the kit’s horrified scream but didn’t even spare him a glance as he struggled to restrain the thrashing and biting creature, a sting of colorful curses spewing nonstop from his mouth among the snarls, hisses, and growls. She was freakishly strong for having such a frail body and by the time Inuyasha had restrained her by locking her arms within his own, he was sporting bite marks and scratches all over his body.

Cranking her arms behind her back and using his own to pin them in place, Inuyasha had managed to get them up onto their knees by the time Miroku and Sango crashed into the hut, weapons drawn, ready to fight. When they saw what they were facing, however, twin gasps escaped both of them and Sango’s hand flew up to her mouth as Miroku simply gaped in shock. He would have explained right then and there, but it was taking every ounce of his strength to hold her back as it was, so all he managed was a grunt and a sharp growl to draw their attention to him.

“Get Kaede,” Inuyasha hissed and jerked is head back to avoid getting head butted by the thrashing human-turned-demon in his arms.

“Now!”

Two weeks. Two weeks had passed and Kagome was still trapped inside herself, forced into being a mindless creature hellbent on slaughtering anyone that dared draw near enough. With Inuyasha and Miroku’s help, Kaede had bound her wrists with sacred sutras because if she wasn’t trying to claw someone else when they got too close, she turned her hands on herself, scratching her skin raw, the claws tipping her fingers deadlier than the sharpest knife.  

She’d long ago shred her clothes to ribbons and so too every single piece of clothing they’d provided her thereafter, so Inuyasha came up with the solution of wrapping her in his suikan. The firerat was stronger than her claws, damn near indescribable, so she was thankfully unable to tear through it.

They tried everything to get her to come back. Spells, chants, potions, medicine—nothing worked. Kagome spat out every potion, laughed when Kaede attempted a new incantation, and medicines applied to the wound on her arm had no effect. Talking to her didn’t help. She either outright ignored them or hurled insults left and right, calling them derogatory names, filthy slurs, her gravelly voice filled with hate and malice.

It stung the most whenever she called him a filthy half-breed, abomination, a disgrace, or any demeaning term linked to his heritage. Inuyasha knew it wasn’t her, though, and it was something he told himself over and over again as he endured every hate filled word, every curse and every insult tossed his way without no regard.

After nearly destroying Kaede’s home in a fit of mindless rage, they had been forced to lock her inside an empty storage hut. It was half the size of Kaede’s hut, but it was the only option they had. Kagome, of course, hadn’t liked that and she’d screamed for the entire first night she was locked in there.

And through it all Inuyasha sat right outside, his heart aching in his chest, hating what had happened to her, but hating himself more for how he was forced to treat her, like nothing more than a low-level demon.

It hurt. God, it hurt like hell, seeing her like this, unable to do anything about it and as he’d sat there listening to her scream and curse every single one of them a horrible, gruesome death, he’d cried.

Inuyasha didn’t think he’d ever felt more helpless, more lost, and for the first time in what was probably his entire life, he prayed. He prayed to whatever Gods would listen to him, begging them to help his Kagome come back to herself, to abolish whatever had a hold of her soul and to have her mind released from its never-ending torment.

And even when the weeks turned to months and still there was no change, Inuyasha refused to give up. He would never give up on her, because he knew she would never give up on him. Hell, she hadn’t given up on him, refusing to run away all those times he’d turned full demon and he was determined to do the same for her. He’d never leave her. No matter how many times her harsh words scarred him worse than her claws did, no matter how many times her cruel laugh echoed in his ears whenever he told he he’d never leave, and not even when the others were beginning to lose hope.

Miroku and Sango were staring to believe they had lost their friend, the evil plaguing her mind too strong, too evil to purify. He never listened to them, though. Whenever they tried to reason with him, to try and convince him that Kagome may never come back, he always turned his back and simply walked away. He wouldn’t hear it. Kagome would come back. He swore to her, he promised, he vowed that he would save her, and he would if it was the last thing he ever did.

And after everything had been said and done, and he’d exhausted all other options, avenues, and possibilities to bring her back, if saving her meant taking her life if only to save her from herself because he knew she wouldn’t want to live like this, hurting them at every opportunity, then so be it.

And it really would be the last thing he ever did because after he took her life, he’d take his own, knowing that he’d be unable to endure the guilt, the pain, the loss of his precious, kind, beautiful Kagome.

Miroku and Sango eventually gave up and stopped trying. They mentioned something about trying to find the jewel shards before leaving, but he hardly cared. The jewel shards, Naraku…they weren’t important anymore. Nothing mattered but saving Kagome and he put every ounce of his energy into helping her.

Shippou, surprisingly, stayed behind with him. He’d gone mute on that fateful day Kagome had become something else and hadn’t said a single word since. The fox sat with him sometimes outside Kagome’s hut and they listened to her thrash around inside, trying to escape, all the while hurling insults left and right, but they hardly fazed him anymore. Shippou seemed numb to it too and Inuyasha worried for the kid, but there wasn’t much he could do outside of being there for him, so now it was a common occurrence for Shippou to sleep curled in his lap.

After all, they only had each other now. Kaede was around, and it seemed she too had given up, but she never turned down Inuyasha if he requested her help with something. He was grateful for it, but he knew she was only doing it to appease him. He didn’t mind, though. He could sense the old woman’s sorrow as clearly as he could Shippou’s, and knew she’d come around once Kagome began showing signs that she was coming back.

He didn’t know when that would be, but he was determined to make it happen, no matter what he had to do, how many miles he had to run or how many demons he had to slaughter. He wasn’t giving up.

Kagome had remained loyally by his side at his darkest times, and he would do the same for her, loyal to the end.

It was nearing the end of the eighth month now and he was no closer to finding a cure than he was when it all began. He’d caved around the fourth month and finally crossed through the well to explain what had happened to her family. Unpredictably they had taken the news hard, but they all had faith in him that he could bring her back. And he would. He swore to them that he’d bring her back as herself again and when Mama had hugged him, he’d returned the embrace.

Inuyasha was positive she’d felt him shaking as she held him, but that was okay because he had smelled her tears.

It was just before dusk. Kaede and Shippou had retired to the old woman’s home and were having a quiet dinner. They said nothing as their half-demon companion stood and left without a word.

Inuyasha stood outside the door to her little hut and for once she was quiet. She still growled and he could hear her stalking around inside, no doubt sensing his presence, but for once she wasn’t screaming expletives or insults. Resting a hand on the wooden door, he leaned his forehead against the cool wood and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Kagome’s sweet scent had long ago been replaced by that wretched, nauseating stench he likened to that of a decaying body, but he’d gotten used to it. In the end, it was Kagome’s scent, so he accepted it.

He released the breath in a long, shaky sigh, and hardening his resolve, Inuyasha unlocked the door before sliding it open and stepping inside.

If he was surprised Kagome didn’t immediately barrel into him in her bid to escape, he didn’t show it as he paused before leaving the door wide open. The dying sunlight illuminated the darkness within and the slits located close to the ceiling that served as windows let the barest amount of muted yellow to spill through onto the floor. Kagome stood with her back pressed against the far wall, snarling softly at him in warning and black eyes narrowed into a murderous glare, but still she didn’t attack him or try and escape. Her hands were still bound behind her back, giving her a disadvantage, but that had never stopped her before.

Inuyasha suspected it might be because throughout the months he’d tussled with her she now had an understanding that he was stronger and faster than her, but he didn’t dwell on the thought for long. It was rare that she allowed him within ten feet of her, let alone with her in the small hut, and he wanted to take advantage of it for as long as he can.

Because it would be the last time either of them would be able to watch the sunset and he wanted to give her something beautiful to look at while he finally said goodbye.

Golden eyes that had lost their glow locked with soulless, empty black and Inuyasha slowly crossed the distance between them. Kagome’s snarl increased in volume, a clear warning to stay away, but he ignored it and stopped in front of her. She snapped her teeth and tried to dash away, but he stopped her, darting his hands out and grasping her shoulders in a tight grip, pressing her back against the wall. Calmly he waited for her struggling to cease, clenching his jaw as she sunk her teeth into anywhere she could reach. He endured the pain, caging her legs with his own and only minutes later did she stop resisting, giving a very aggravated snarl to convey her evident displeasure.

When all she did was continue to stand there and growl at him, Inuyasha slowly eased up the pressure on her shoulders, ready to restrain her again if he needed to. Apparently, however, she’d accepted she wasn’t going anywhere so she remained where she was and he lifted his hands until he was cupping her face. He ignored her bared teeth and snarl and simply stared at her, taking her in, amber eyes flicking across the twisted features that belonged to his beloved.

Her face was dirty, smudged with dried blood and mud. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes were sunken, and her jawline was pronounced. Ebony hair, tangled and course, fell into her eyes and he brushed the strands away. She snapped at his fingers. He ignored it and brushed his thumbs across her prominent cheekbones.

“Kagome,” he whispered, his voice ragged, tortured, the raw pain in that single word clear as day.

Kagome didn’t hear it. She growled at him and wrenched her shoulders to free herself, but the attempt was weak.

Inuyasha’s eyes grew hot and he swallowed thickly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against her own. Her skin was cold and clammy.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped and couldn’t, didn’t stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Kagome. I tried. Please believe me when I say I tried so hard, but I couldn’t…I…”

A choked sob erupted from his throat and he had to close his eyes, just for a moment, as he struggled to compose himself. Kagome was unresponsive to his pain, teeth bared in an annoyed scowl, a steady growl in her throat as she glowered balefully at him.

Sucking in a ragged breath, he opened his eyes and stared into that empty gaze, dark as shadows, desperately searching for any trace of the woman he knew was in there somewhere, any sign of the beautiful blue that he’d always been able to drown in.

“Come back to me,” Inuyasha begged, the tears running unchecked now but he hardly cared. “Come back to me, Kagome, please. I can’t…do this without you. I need you with me, Kagome. Please…please come back…”

She didn’t come back. Kagome had gone completely still, black eyes twin voids of eternal nothingness, her features now lacking any sign of animosity.

Another sob escaped before he could stop it and cradling her face in his hands, Inuyasha pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were cold, dry, unmoving beneath his own as he kissed his beloved for the first, and last time.

“I love you,” he rasped against her lips, his hands shaking now. “I love you so much, Kagome. If I could give my life to some higher power to save you from this hell, I would in a heartbeat, but I’m afraid this is the only thing I can do for you.”

Unpredictably she said nothing and stood there, staring right through him, motionless, and with a strangled sob Inuyasha crushed her to him. He pressed his face to her bony shoulder and wept, wishing there was another way, desperate for any other solution to make itself known right then and there, but of course it didn’t. He knew this was the only way, and he knew Kagome wouldn’t want to live like this.

He should have done this a long time ago, but he just…he couldn’t…

Gritting his teeth as another wave of anguish washed through him, so strong his knees almost gave out, Inuyasha pulled back, pressed his palm to her cold face, and gave her one last fleeting kiss.

“I love you,” he murmured and shifted so he stood behind her, slipping one arm around her thin waist while his free hand hovered above her chest.

Above her heart.

More tears spilled from his eyes, running hot down his cheeks, but he paid them no mind, his claws poised, ready to end her suffering. His hand shook and he tried to steady it; the last thing he wanted to do was cause her unnecessary pain by missing. Dropping a kiss to her head, Inuyasha directed his gaze outside, the doorway framing a beautiful sunset that showered the earth in glowing reds, oranges, and yellows.

He smiled and hoped that Kagome saw the beautiful sight, too.

“Forgive me,” he whispered and pressed forward—

“I…n…a-a…s…ah…”

Inuyasha froze and the breath stalled in his lungs. His eyes went wide and his heart slammed so hard against is ribcage he was sure she could feel it. Blood pounded in his ears and his throat felt dry, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

Was…was he hearing things? Was he so desperate his mind was playing tricks on him? He waited, his breathing coming in gasping pants, the hand that had been ready to plunge into her chest shaking. He strained his ears and hoped, prayed it was real, that he wasn’t hearing things—

“In…sha…c-c-cold…”

The thin body he held against him started to shake even more violently than his own and he felt a feather light touch on his hand, so cold it could be ice. The sob that erupted from his throat was borne from a mix of intense, powerful relief and a joy so palpable, so strong it chased away the chill in his body, leaving a warm, wonderful sensation he’d thought he would never feel again.

“Kagome,” Inuyasha rasped in a voice so raw it was barely audible as he stumbled around her to see her face.  

Blue. Her eyes were blue, gorgeous, endless pools of midnight oceans that he had missed so fucking badly during the past eight months. With a sound that was a mix between a sob and a laugh, Inuyasha gathered her in his arms and fell to the floor, the strength abruptly leaving him. He cried into her shoulder, his hold on her tight, not wanting to ever let her go. God, he had almost…! If she hadn’t…!

“Inu,” Kagome breathed, her voice a mere wisp of what it was and Inuyasha finally managed to compose himself enough to lean back and stare into those sorely missed blue eyes. His face was flushed, his cheeks were wet, but he didn’t care as he cupped her face in his hands, watching in stunned amazing as life bled into those dear features once again. Her skin warmed and lost that deathly pale color, her cheeks filled out, and her lips, pink and a little dry, parted on a quiet moan.

“Shh,” Inuyasha gently soothed her, smoothing back her hair, reveling in its silky texture. “D-don’t talk. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay…”

Over and over he said those two words and he didn’t know if he was assuring her or himself as he held her, kissing her face, her lips, wanting to cry and laugh at the same time when he felt her hands weakly grab his kosode. She tried to talk but he shushed her, telling her that he was here, he’d protect her, she was safe, she was back and he was never, ever letting her go.

Of course, Kagome – his beautiful, sweet, stubborn Kagome – didn’t listen and once more tried to ask him something, but a violent coughing fit cut her off and Inuyasha didn’t think he’d ever bellowed louder for Kaede than he did right then.

Hours later, after Kagome had bathed with the help of Inuyasha because hell if he was going to let her out of his sight and gotten some food and drink into her belly – or at least what she managed to keep down – he, Kagome cradled in his lap, Shippou, and Kaede all sat around the old woman’s fire pit, marveling at the miracle that happened.

Wrapped once more in his suikan, feeling warm for the first time in months and also feeling like she could sleep for a solid week, Kagome was content to rest against her hanyou as he combed his fingers through her hair, occasionally dropping a kiss to her head where it lay on his shoulder. Shippou had barely left her side as well and a few tears still leaked from his eyes as he curled himself against her stomach, small hands clutching her borrowed suikan for life.

Inuyasha didn’t mind it and every once in a while he even stroked the kit’s hair, a gentle reassurance that everything was alright now.

Kaede watched them with a truly happy smile, her single eye warm and also bright with tears. Miroku and Sango were still hunting for shards, but they would be back soon, she wagered. It had been just over a week since they’d left and she knew they were due back any day now. It would be a happy surprise to find Kagome back to herself, she imagined, but for now she was glad Inuyasha and Shippou had this time with her to themselves.

Getting to her feet, Kaede quietly excused herself, paused to lay a hand on both Inuyasha and Kagome’s shoulders, before leaving the hut to give them some alone time.

Kagome sighed and nuzzled his shoulder, squeezing his hand where his fingers were laced with hers. Inuyasha squeezed back and dropped a kiss to her forehead.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” he whispered, reluctant to wake the slumbering kit curled up against her. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Mm,” Kagome grunted and he grinned because he knew what that meant. God, he had missed her so much.

“Stubborn,” he chastised, though his tone lacked any heat as he pressed his mouth to her temple, simply breathing her in and letting her sorely missed, sweet scent surround him.

“‘Course,” she breathed, keeping her eyes closed. “How else could I have…come back to you.”

As it always did when he thought about it, his heart clenched and he closed his eyes, his grip on her tightening just a little.

“Kagome—”

“I’ve been thinking,” she interrupted him, her voice a little stronger than before, and Inuyasha held his breath. “And I think…I know what brought me back.”

Inuyasha went very still and leaned back just enough to catch a glimpse of her face. Midnight blue collided with deep amber and the breath caught in his throat.

Then she smiled and his heart started beating again. Christ, the power this woman held over him…

“I don’t remember much,” she admitted, keeping her eyes on his. “When I was…you know. But the only thing I do remember is this burning, intense hatred for…well, everything. There was no logical reason for it; just pure, unadulterated loathing for every living thing. It swallowed me whole and it was cold and dark and…anyway.”

She paused to clear her throat and it was obvious he was fighting sleep, but was determined to keep going. He brushed her hair away from her face and she tipped him a sleepy, but warm smile.

“I think…that arrow, the one the deer demon hit me with. I think that black energy was just…pure hatred manifested into a physical form. So it makes sense that when it got into my blood stream, it consumed me and I became a living, breathing, giant mass of roiling hate and malice. So tonight, when you came to me and…and you said—”

“I told you I love you,” Inuyasha finished for her, blinking in surprise. But then he frowned and shook his head, disbelief on his face.

“No,” he murmured. “It can’t be that simple…can it?”

Kagome smiled again and shrugged.

“Think about it, though,” she murmured and gave a small yawn. “Love has been proven to be stronger than hate. Remember when we were battling Kaguya and I brought you back…well, by kissing you? I told you then that I loved you as a half-demon, Inuyasha. So if my love for you brought you back then…why can’t yours do the same for me?”

Inuyasha stared at her for so long without saying anything that Kagome was about to ask if he was alright. But then he sighed, shook his head, and the crooked grin he gave her warmed her more than his suikan every could.

“Keh,” he muttered and leaned down to rest his forehead against her own as he lifted a hand to cup her cheek, tenderly stroking the skin just beneath her eye.

“Kagome.”

She blinked. “…Yes?”

“Are you really trying to tell me that love conquers all, because I swear to god—”

“Ohmigod, you brat, shut up,” Kagome said around her giggles and swatted at his chest, blue eyes bright with her mirth and her smile completely enchanting. Inuyasha chuckled with her and took the chance to steal a few kisses from her, loving the way she immediately melted against him with a quiet hum of content.

“Alright, wench,” he whispered and kissed her one last time before pressing his lips to her forehead. “I accept your completely cliché and sappy theory, now get some rest. I know you’re exhausted and your voice is giving me a headache.”

Kagome swatted his chest again and he grinned, unrepentant.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he promised her, voice soft as Kagome snuggled against him and he felt her hand worm its way into his kosode to press her hand against his chest, right above his heart.

Inuyasha’s throat tightened and he swallowed thickly, moving his hand to cover her own. Fuck, but he loved this woman so goddamn much.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he told her in a voice thick with emotion.

“Promise?” she whispered, seconds away from sleep.

“I promise.”

“N’yasha?”

He sighed. So stubborn. “Hm?”

“Love you.”

His heart swelled and he closed his eyes to stave off the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. He took a moment to compose himself, burying his nose in her hair to breath in her scent, letting it soothe him, ground him like nothing ever had.

“I love you, too, Kagome,” he whispered, heart in his throat. “So fucking much. Now sleep, goddammit, before I smother you with the runt.”

He was rewarded with a soft, sleepy giggle and a flash of an impish grin before his Kagome finally succumbed to the peaceful throes of sleep.

Inuyasha stayed up for as long as he could, simply watching her sleep and listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, letting the reassuring sound and her gentle breathing lull him into a state of lethargic relaxation. Before long he felt the pull of slumber himself and with his kit and beloved cradled safely in his arms, Inuyasha was content to fall into the first deep sleep he’d had in eight very long months.  

#inukag week 2020 #day 2: loyalty #inukag #inuyasha fanfiction #loyal #keizfanfiction #oneshot #ITS ANGSTY Y'ALL #but dont worry no one dies #because cmon its me #like i can actually kill of any of my babies ;adjff #but i DID cry while writing this #a lot #mostly because im a giant baby with lots of feels but #anyway #hope you enjoy hahahahaha