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#Holes in the sky? PIERCED BY THE FIRE???
tteokdoroki · 5 months
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☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. a love so cold.
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about. as the seasons start to change, satoru gojo figures out a new way to keep you warm on colder mornings.
warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. smut, somnophilia, soft morning sex, oral sex (f!receiving), brief mention of gojo and reader being married, lovey lovey lovey dovey dovey dovey stuff !! fem!reader.
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gojo waking you up on a cold morning by diving between your thighs.
sure the duvet is long abandoned and your (his) shirt is pushed up to expose your pebbled nipples to the frosty air — but it’s the heat of his tongue salaciously rolling through your puffy folds that keep you nice and warm.
satoru breathes hot air against your pulsing mount, his lips encircling your clit as he sucks it, kisses it and makes out with it as if he’s making out with you. every time he moans into your heat, he draws a shrill sound from deep in your chest that pierces the solace of autumn’s silence. your whines echo along with the sway of rustling tree leaves and gojo’s hungry growls provide the bass of your seasonal tune.
he’s a sight for sore eyes between your shaky thighs that knock the blankets from your king sized bed. his blue eyes blaze bright enough to rival the subtle hue of the morning sky breaking through the curtains of night. it’s always darker this time of year. and his pale white locks, astray and askew, remind you that it might snow once winter comes.
“sa..satoru!” you exclaim though your voice is hoarse from not having been used in hours. the last thing you’d said was that you loved him — you think that you might love him even more right now. mouth on your sluice and syrupy slit, sucking the very juices from their place between your pussy lips. your fingers dance down to grip the roots of his hair, settled against his scalp like snow on sturdy ground. you don’t tug yet, only using his head to ground yourself. “sa…satoru—oh!”
your lips move to form the syllables of his name — though they’re lost on you when the ecstasy he builds up within you, by tacking his tongue to your clit in tight circles, starts a fire in your lower pelvis. that very same fire burns it’s way through your body like a forest fire, effectively warming you up from the inside out. it keeps going, consuming your every nerve ending until it reaches the base of your lungs and all you can breathe is the smoke of satoru gojo.
“good morning to you too, sweetheart,” satoru sings into your cunt in amusement. his voice holds the tenderness of an early morning greeting before he delves back into tasting you — slurping and sucking up and down the length of your slit before slipping his tongue into your quivering hole. his chin juts forward rhythmically, as if to fuck you with the pink appendage like it’s his cock.
he watches your face with adoration as it twists and scrunches and morphs into pure bliss. he loves that about you, how expressive you are — how your body follows his lead even if it’s too cold for you to stop shaking. he’ll warm you up. he always does.
“you don’t have to say it back, i know, baby. you’re just too tired, too close to even speak—“ gojo doesn’t get a chance to finish, not before your fingers twist in his roots as his tongue twists and wiggles against your sloppy, ribbed wall. it travels along your pleasure spots — the ones only he knows about, and maps out even more for next time. but any praise or condescension he has saved for you is lost and muffled against your sex as you rut your hips down on his handsome face.
“‘m close… gonna… haf’ta—!”
finally finding your voice despite the smoke-like aphrodisiac in your lungs — you succumb to the heat. the hotness of satoru’s mouth on you, his fingers sinking into your hips to keep you on his face, the lust that prickles just below the surface of your skin. you cum just as the winter birds break the silence with their own morning calls, as the sun breaks through grey-ish and intimidating clouds. you gush all over satoru, your lover and protector, with a high pitch and whistle tone wail — head thrown back into the pillows and your lips parted ever so slightly.
his white brows knit together in the centre of his forehead, mocking your dazed and needy expression. however, it’s clear he’s just as love and sex and pussy drunk on you as you might be on him. satoru results to gulping down the stormy waves of your orgasm with unbridled greed. as of what you offer him is the finest of wines or the last thing he’ll ever drink.
those pretty blue eyes are overcome with a haze as he drinks you down, dazed and content to just have a taste of you. satoru’s tongue makes its laps through your folds to make sure he doesn’t waist a drop — wolffish grunts and groans and sounds like ‘mph’ or ‘mhm’ reverberate between your thighs until he’s done cleaning you up. only adding to your shakes and shivers.
not from the cold, but from how hard you’ve cum.
“you… mph, taste so— fucking good, baby.” he huffs, breathless from nearly suffocating himself to get a taste of you. gojo dares to dive back in, but you tug on his hair once more and force him to look up into your pleading eyes.
“‘toru,” you whisper, lashes fluttering innocently, voice still shaky and hoarse. “good morning.”
you need him, up there with you.
his face breaks out into a slow and sexy smile — kissing up your body, over your naval and between the valley of your breasts, against your neck and chin until he reaches your lips. he kisses you gently then and his entire body sits between your thighs.
“good morning, beautiful.” he sighs, content. he cups your face gently to keep you looking at him, his wedding band glistening more than what you’ve left on his chin.
you hum, feeling his body heat simmer over you along with what’s left of the arousal in your system while it simmers down. “you’re insatiable, you know that?”
“but you love me.”
“i suppose so.”
“ouch, sweetheart. so cold.” gojo pouts, faux hurt laced with his teasing voice.
and in that moment, you wrap your legs around his unfairly slender waist and flip the man so that you end up on top — straddling the great satoru gojo and planting your hands on his the centre of his blistering hot chest.
there’s a glint in your eye, the flicker of a lustful flame that only serves to set satoru’s heart alight while you press your sticky sex down on him.
“then let me do the honours of warming you back up, my love.”
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꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
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theonewiththefanfics · 4 months
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Seal It With a Kiss (one-shot)
Synopsys: After a looting session goes wrong, Astarion and Reader have to face the music and confront their feelings. Whatever they might be.
Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader
Genre: angst, fluff
Warnings: talks of blood, injuries, swearing, mentions of abuse, but nothing explicit
Word count: 3234
A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )
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The light was too bright. And the ground was too hard. And the pillow too tough and lumpy. And why did Y/N feel so hot when it was literally snowing? And, actually, when had it started snowing? From bright blue skies, might she add?
Slowly, haziness dissipated from her eyes, and the world around came into sharp, painful focus. The light was too bright because half of her surroundings were on literal fire. The ground was too hard because she was half on rubble that once was a palace roof, and the tough, lumpy pillow was a rock her head had smashed against, while the snow was ashes flowing down, covering everything, including her, in a grey layer of soot, the sky peeking in from the hole above.
Although her sight was clearing, a sharp ringing pierced her ears. Or was it shouting?
A shadow crossed the sky, and above her, she could see their resident vampiric elf’s mouth moving.
“ – were you thinking?!” Finally, her ears started to clear as well. “You absolute imbecile! Why would you do that?!”
Y/N just groaned in response, as her memories came back in quick flashes. Everyone was arguing about where they should look for another magical artefact, Astarion shooting down what Gale had proposed, Wyll trying to make a sensible plan while Lae’Zel interrupted Shadowheart at any given moment. A deep rumble from the depths of the abandoned palace they were in silenced them all, Karlach throwing them a worried expression. And then the whole building exploded.
On instinct, Y/N had pushed Astarion as far away as she could before the ceiling came crashing down on top of her. It was nothing short of a miracle, she had managed to survive. Bruised, battered, no doubt with broken bones, but alive nonetheless. Maybe she’d have to thank a goddess or two. That was if Astarion didn’t rip her to pieces beforehand with how furious he looked.
Slowly Y/N tried to lift herself onto her forearms, and for all his admonishments, Astarion was quick to crouch down and help her, putting his arms under her pits and letting her rest against his chest.
“Oh dear,” she mumbled, noticing a large bannister lying across her leg. “That’s not good.”
“Not good?!” Astarion practically shrieked, his hands tightening around her ribs. “How hard did you hit your fucking head? This is so beyond not good I can’t even think of a level!”
Y/N winced at his tone. “Can you stop shouting, please? Gods, my head is splitting.”
“Oh, is it now? It would be quite the fucking miracle if it wasn’t, seeing as a whole fucking palace just toppled on you!”
“Quit being so dramatic and help get that thing off me! Where’re the rest?”
“Frankly, I don’t fucking care right now!” Astarion gently laid Y/N back down and went to the large boulder.
His arms strained as he lifted the piece of the pillar, her eyes widening at the display of strength.
She sometimes forgot how strong Astarion actually was, how easily he could snap her neck with just a twist of his hands if he so wished while Y/N allowed him to drink from her. But he was always gentle instead, with how he held her nape, fingers soothingly pressing into her scalp and knuckles brushing against her collarbones once he was done in a sweet gesture of thanks.
As quickly as she could, Y/N scooted from under the rubble, Astarion dropping the boulder back unceremoniously, and he was back by her side in a second, an arm wrapping around her waist, so she could lean on him.
“We have to find the others,” Y/N hissed as she stood. Her whole body screamed in pain, but they had to get out of the now-ruined palace, lest another explosion happen.
“They can find their own way out,” Astarion grunted, as he led them towards the exit.
“Astarion!”
“No!” He snapped his head to look at Y/N, and his scarlet eyes held such a desperate gaze in them, that she pinched her lips shut. “I will knock you out if I have to. I am not letting you get hurt again.”
“Astarion, they’re our friends,” Y/N’s voice was gentle. “We have to help them if we can.”
For a moment, Astarion truly looked like he might just throw her over his shoulder and march out of the place. But then he sighed, hanging his head in defeat before looking at her with pain distorting his features. “Why do you always have to be so good?”
Something tugged at her heart. That expression on his face, as if it physically put him in agony to lead them around the ruined palace in search of their companions, as he flinched and tightened his hold on her whenever something crackled, ready to throw his own body atop hers, in case something happened. It wasn’t selfishness, not one bit. Something deeper lay beneath Astarion’s reluctance.
It took them a while to find their party, but luckily no one was injured, and Y/N was the worst one off.  Shadowheart was by her side in an instant, giving her a healing potion.
“Should keep you set until we get back to camp.” She patted her shoulder. “I’ll heal you fully once we’re out of immediate danger.”
“Thank you.” Y/N smiled at the cleric.
She was just about to ask Astarion whether he was alright, but the vampire had already detached himself and was glaring at the ground, arms crossed over his chest ten feet away from her.
Y/N couldn’t deny – it stung. He’d been so worried just a few moments ago, yet now he couldn’t even look at her?
Her feet worked on their own accord, moving in his direction, but the way he turned his back to her, told her all she needed to know – he didn’t want to talk.
Pain shot through her heart, and it was definitely not because of the explosion, but Y/N respected his privacy, so she didn’t approach him any further, even though they always, always, walked next to one another.
“We should head back,” she spoke up, eyes remaining on Astarion’s taut back. “Maybe get some rest as well. We still have tomorrow anyway to search this place.”
When Astarion left the palace without even waiting to see if anyone was following, Y/N could do nothing but sigh and depart as well.
The walk to where they’d set up their camp was uncharacteristically quiet, especially from the pale elf’s side. He’d usually fill their travels with mindless talk and sarcastic quips, but this time around, he hung towards the back of their group and was as mum as a grave. He didn’t even comment on whatever Gale was saying, which made Y/N all the more uneasy.
She couldn’t wrap her mind around why he’d become so distant all of a sudden. What’d happened at the palace was nothing unusual. They risked their lives on the daily, saving others and themselves, so why in the world was Astarion so pissed about this, she had no clue.
Karlach leaned to the side, watching as the vampire entered his tent, closing the laces immediately. “Fangs is quite in a bad mood. Anything we should know about, soldier?”
Y/N huffed. “Probably broke a nail or something. In any case – nothing important enough to be acting the way he is.”
“Maybe I should go and – “
She put a palm on Karlach’s shoulder, stopping her, and giving her friend a wry smile. “I’ll talk to him. Better he’s angry at me and only me, not someone else as well. Apparently, I’ve pissed him off as is.”
“You sure?” the tiefling asked.
“Yeah.” Y/N nodded. “I think we need to have a talk anyway.”
With a “good luck” from Karlach, she sighed and steeled herself against whatever the vampire would throw her way. She unlaced the ties and lifted the flap to the side. With crossed arms, she entered Astarion’s tent, only to be greeted by his back as he stubbornly kept looking at a book in his hands, not even acknowledging her.
“Are you seriously pouting right now?” Y/N asked after a minute of silence.
“I’m not pouting, I’m brooding. There’s a difference.”
“Well, does brooding involve giving the silent treatment, or can we talk?”
Astarion threw a withering gaze over his shoulder. “What is there you want to talk about? Unless it’s an apology, I don’t want to hear it.”
Y/N let out an exasperated huff. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I won’t apologise for saving your life.”
“By putting your own life in danger?!” Astarion spun around, throwing the tome he’d been holding onto his bedroll.
“Comes with the territory.” She shrugged. “You should know how it is.”
“Letting a whole building collapse on top of you is very different to knocking a blade out of the way!”
“Why are you so angry with me?” Y/N raised her voice, matching Astarion’s furious tone. “I saved your life!
“I didn’t ask for you to!”
She let out a disbelieving scoff. “Well, sucks to be you then! Because I was not just going to let you get crushed underneath all that rubble! Your life is just as important as everyone else’s!”
“Not to me! Not when it comes to you!”
Now that shut her up completely, her lips pinched in a thin line, eyes wide in shock. She and Astarion were friends, at least Y/N would've liked to think so. She most definitely had developed deeper feelings than that, but would only admit to it over her own dead body. The thought of Astarion’s rejection made her want to crumple into a small heap, but his reaction put thoughts in her head that maybe, just maybe, her feelings weren’t one-sided.
“What do you suppose I would do if you – if – if,” he stumbled on his words. “If I had to go on without you? If you were no longer with us… with me…”
“Astarion…”
“Do you understand how it felt to see you go down?” He sighed, hanging his head. “When I saw the roof caving in and then felt you push me away before you vanished beneath rubble and dust and ash… I’ve never been more terrified in all of my life, two hundred years of which were spent under the rule of an absolute sadist, where horrors awaited around every corner.”
His eyes bore nothing but pain and despair he’d felt in that moment. “I heard everyone else screaming - Shadowheart calling out, Wyll and Karlach making sure Gale and Lae’Zel were alright but nothing… not a single whisper from your voice. You tell me I’m pouting, but all I can see when I close my eyes is you… how you would look… dead. Your eyes closed forever, your blood spilling out of your body and I… I have to stand and watch as I am unable to save you.
“But I’m alright.” Y/N stepped up to him, taking one of his palms in hers, and squeezing it. “Astarion, I’m alive, and I’m fine.”
“But you almost weren’t!” he hissed, pulling her closer, bringing their clasped hands to rest against his chest. “And all I would have been left to do was wait for the dust to settle and dig out your broken body. You would have condemned me to eternity without you… I just almost lost the person I love... and that fear is something I never wish to experience again.”
Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat at such an honest confession. “I umm I didn’t know you felt that way about me.” Friendship was one thing, but love? That threw her completely off balance.
“Feel? Felt? What does it matter anymore? Clearly, it’s not like it’s reciprocated.” He scoffed, back the mask of bravado and not caring, but Y/N wasn’t having any of it.
“It matters to me.” Her brows furrowed. “It matters a great deal to me. Why do you think I did what I did, exactly? Because it’s fun? Because I enjoy blocks of buildings dropping down on me? Because it’s such an absolute delight to realise - if I don’t push you out of the way, you will be in direct line of fire, and I might lose you?”
Astarion’s mouth opened and closed. “I didn’t – I –“
“No!” Y/N pointed an accusatory finger at him. Now she was angry. “You don’t get to play the "I'm in love with you" card and be angry with me. Not if you dare tell me how I feel without asking first!”
“You...” He shook his head, a crease to his brow. “You never indicated you held anything more than… friendly affections towards me.”
Y/N rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Yes, because I let everyone in this party use me as their personal snack each night. I’d say that should’ve been your first clue.”
“I’d say you’re a full-course meal, my darling, but I understand the sentiment.” And though back was his usual air of sarcasm, a deep vulnerability could be seen shining in his crimson eyes as he weaved a gentle hand to wrap around the small of her waist, brushing underneath her sleep tunic to rest against her skin.
Cold met warm, and Y/N gasped as a shiver ran down her spine. His slender fingers dug into her back as he pulled Y/N closer, their breaths mingling, and if they only moved just a couple of centimetres, lips would touch.
“I just – I cannot stand and watch you throw your life away for someone like me. The thought of your brightness being extinguished because of it… I couldn’t bear it.”
Y/N tilted her head to the side. “Someone like who exactly? Someone who I’ve grown to look at as my dearest confidant? Someone who I know will always tell me the truth and be there if I cannot handle it? Or someone who so deftly has stolen my heart, he cannot even comprehend it’s been his the whole time? Besides, even if it wasn’t reciprocated...” She played with the string of his shirt, “you can’t tell me to be more careful, to not save you when you do the exact same thing.”
“How can I not?” Astarion’s voice was uncharacteristically soft, and for once, he seemed to want the moment to reflect what truly lay in his soul. “You make my heart beat on its own. If I had to give up walking in the sun for the rest of my life, I would. As long as it meant you were safe and happy. I’d even gladly go back to Cazador if you were on the line. Without a second to spare.”
“Don’t you dare fucking say that!"
“But it’s true.”
“Not if I can help it,” Y/N grumbled, tightening her hold on his shirt by his hips, pulling him closer like she had to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. “He’s not ever going to get near you. I’ll level the whole of Baldur’s Gate if I have to.”
“And I am being honest when I say, if I had to choose between you being unhurt or me being imprisoned, being used as I was, I would always put you first.”
Y/N was on the verge of tears. “You listen to me you pompous blood-sucking elf – you will do no such thing. Whatever comes, we both will get through it. And Cazador will have his head ripped from his shoulders, but not before I gouge his eyes out, and do every single vile thing he did to you back onto him. I will skin him alive and then throw him in a tomb with nothing but cockroaches. Let him drink his own blood and see how he likes it.” She shuddered, taking in a deep breath. “Your life is not worth less than mine. Don’t you ever dare think that way.”
A watery chuckle escaped Astarion, and his eyes brimmed with silvery tears. “Can I kiss you?” He didn’t dare lift his gaze, focusing on their intertwined fingers, resting against where his heart no doubt would have been rattling a crazy rhythm if it still beat.
“If you want to.” Y/N’s reply was as quiet as his question had been, but there was no teasing in her tone.
His eyes flashed for a second, but she didn’t get a full grasp on what it was she saw. Maybe surprise. Maybe gratitude? She couldn’t tell really, all she knew was that the emotion caused a pang to ring to her very core. She’d kill Cazador with her own bloody hands.
“I want it.” He nodded. “More than anything.”
“More than my blood? That first night you almost drained me dry,” Y/N’s words, though true, held no malice, only gentle teasing.
“And how do you know that first time I wasn’t trying to wake up the sleeping princess with a magical true love’s kiss? The feeding just ended up being a bonus.” He brushed her nose with his, and couldn’t help the way his own lips turned up as Y/N smiled.
“Well, this sleeping princess would’ve punched you in the nose, had you awoken her for such silly things. Besides, you did miss my lips.”
Astarion chuckled, relishing the way her body pressed against his. “But I am allowed to awaken you to drink from you?”
“Well...” She nudged his nose with hers now. “Seeing as you become absolutely unbearable when hungry, I think for my own peace and everyone else’s, that does count as a vital reason to rouse me."
Gentle hands cupped her cheeks. “Allow me to demonstrate then how vital a kiss can be to one’s survival.”
And then their lips met.
She’d never admit it out loud, for his ego would surely grow larger than it already was, but it did feel like a magical kiss of life. Her whole body sang as his fingers slid against the nape of her neck, pulling her closer, almost like Astarion was afraid she’d pull back, but she could never. Not when he slipped his tongue past her lips, and her knees almost crumbled.
Y/N had to tighten her hold on his waist to not completely lose it, and she could feel the smirk growing on the vampire’s face, as he realised just how incapacitated his kiss had made her. He nipped at the bottom of her lip and relished in the small whimper he got to devour.
After what felt like ages, they pulled back, panting, but not going too far as Astarion rested his forehead against hers.
Y/N smiled. “True love’s kiss you say?”
“It feels like it,” he mumbled, allowing himself to indulge in the tender touch of her fingers skimming up and down his back. “Though I don’t know much about… love… I’d like to experience it with you. All of it. The good and the bad that might come with it.”
“I’ll be here,” Y/N promised. “As long as you want me to, I’m not going anywhere.”
“And if I ask for forever?”
She let out an over-exaggerated, dramatic sigh. “Forever’s quite a long time, don’t you think?”
“Not long enough,” Astarion replied, a smile tugging up his lips. “It’d never be long enough with you.”
Y/N quirked a brow. “Is that a challenge?”
He chuckled at that. “I’d say it’s more of a promise, if anything.”
“Seal it with a kiss?”
“Deal, my love.”
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tachimichishrine · 5 months
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"sap"
⫭◦ପଓ◦⫬
tachihara machizou x fem! hirotsu's daughter! reader
warnings: nsfw ; shower sex ; oral (receiving); masturbation (m); cursing ; bondage; fluff to smut ; idk how to write warnings; unedited ill do that later
being a part of the black lizard had its fun, but some days were boring, like today; tachihara slumped his body against the wall as he stole glances at hirotsu, who seemed just as disinterested.
"cigarette?" the old man offered, placing one in his mouth and lighting it while gunshots rang out in the background. some small rival organization - even rival was a generous word - had "forgotten" to pay back the port mafia. one warning was given and they were told to go fuck themselves, so the black lizard battalion was called. apparently, this organization had some kind of powerful ability users as executives, but whoever they were, they didn't show up for the slaughter.
grunts, low level thugs and anyone else got caught in the crossfire. both mafia members watched the wall of suits fire off enough gunshots to fill up the night sky if bullets were stars.
"i still don't get why we gotta be here for this," tachihara grumbled, taking the offer and placing the plume of smoke to his lips. "seems like they just talk a whole lot of shit."
"it's never wrong to be cautious," the senior member retorted. he puckered his lips and made a ring of grey that floated listlessly in the atmosphere alongside the smell of blood. "the boss specifically warned me about a dangerous woman who could wipe out our troops in one shot."
lips curled around the cigarette, sucked on the nicotine and exhaled pure sarcasm. "yeah, well looks like she's a real pain in our asses."
a few moments passed in silence - or rather, with only white noise echoing in the abandoned warehouse, white noise being a steady stream of gunshots. it was music to both their ears - and surely enough, no one showed up. every thug had enough bullet holes in them to make the notion that a single one survived laughable. tachihara pressed his forearm to the wall and pushed himself off, stretching dramatically with a sigh.
before he could complain again about how lame this mission was, the wall exploded.
not so much an "explosion" as a deformation. it was pushed back, and tachihara barely had the time to react before a giant hole was pierced and a woman came out.
"well, fuck," she glanced at the sea of corpses on the ground, then back at tachihara with a playful smirk. "I guess you're the mafia shithead who I was just told I gotta put down. sucks that I got here late though; if you hadn't killed all my subordinates, I might've let you live, pretty boy."
she looked young, too young to be an executive. despite this, she walked with the kind of confidence that got his skin crawling in anticipation. finally, this night gets more interesting.
he pulled his guns out of their holsters and pointed them straight at her face, mimicking her expression. "you're shit out of luck, lady, 'cause I'm gonna-"
"[_____]?"
hirotsu, who had been briefly blown out of the way, came walking back in with a look of shock on his face. the redhead rolled his eyes; he didn't care whether or not the old man knew this lady, he was going to blow her brains out.
only, as his gaze reverted back onto her, she had the same expression as hirotsu did.
in fact, she was blushing, embarrassed like a schoolgirl who'd gotten caught.
"...dad?!"
what the fuck?
tachihara felt his hands lower a little as he took in the situation, and his eyes just kept darting to his superior, then to his enemy. shellshocked isn't the right word, they were looking at each other like neither had a clue what to say.
"shouldn't you be in school?!"
"dad, since when are you in the fucking mafia?!"
"language!"
the woman dropped her gun, groaning with her face in her hands, muttering to herself. "great, this is great. what the hell?! I knew you did shady business, but I didn't think-"
"is this where your university fund money has gone?" the mafioso's face was red too, from what could only be guessed to be anger mixed in with shame and shock.
"no, I'm still in class, I just... hey, don't distract me, old man. why didn't you tell me you were in the port mafia?"
"why didn't you tell me you were a gangster?!"
"because it's none of your business!"
tachihara's presence grew smaller and smaller as he watched the whole debate happen. it was awkward in a manner he couldn't describe, as he felt not only that he was intruding, but that this was definitely not something he should be listening to. he tucked his guns away, mostly out of respect for hirotsu and the fact that he wasn't about to shoot what appeared to be his daughter.
a few moments later they were hugging.
"sorry dad," she muttered as she pulled away from the embrace. "if I had known, I would've told you..."
"it's alright, but you shouldn't keep things like these from me, [_____]."
sighing, the woman chuckled nervously then promised she wouldn't. she crossed her arms and leaned her back against the deformed wall, then took a look around. she seemed to suddenly notice that tachihara was still there.
"well..." she looked at him then giggled a little, likely embarrassed about the whole situation. "I guess I'm not gonna kill you after all, huh?"
he didn't know what to say, because what is there to say? obviously, this conflict couldn't go anywhere further. thankfully, hirotsu intervened. "what will you tell your superiors?"
"no idea. they just called me to ask me to return to base to protect all of these hopeless fuckers-"
"language."
her eyes rolled. "dad, I'm not 5, I can swear. pretty boy here agrees, don't you, red?"
it took tachihara a moment to realize she was talking about him. once again, his mouth opened but his boss was quicker to respond.
"do you throw yourself at all men like this, [_____]? I thought I raised you better than that."
ignoring his comment with a wave of her hand in the air as though swatting away a fly, she continued. "as I was saying, they just called me. I could technically tell them that I got here too late and the culprits were gone, but I don't think that would bode well with the news that they just lost 90% of their entry-level grunts."
slightly annoyed, the tuffs of grey hair nodded. "you're right, they won't. what's your plan, then?"
a shrug and a pursing of lips. "no clue. you sure I can't just kill red and bring his body to-"
"why don't you just join the port mafia?"
the suggestion came from the one who had barely spoken all night. of course, he didn't think hirotsu would actually let him be used as a scapegoat, but all this banter felt useless. "since your organization is dead in the water anyways. if you just leave, they'll kill you as their final act, but if you join the mafia, you'll have protection."
another shrug. "he's not wrong," she said, "plus, I could just work with you."
hirotsu wanted to protest, but logically, they were both right. despite not wanting his daughter to get involved, he had faith in the mafia like no other member, and was loyal to no ends.
and that's how hirotsu [_____] found herself a member of the black lizard.
her father hated it, of course. the only people who knew they were related was tachihara and gin, the latter picking up on it after a while of noticing them bickering like they had a past.
over time, tachihara got snippets of the story. it seems like at some point, the old man had some sort of relationship with a woman who didn't know he was in the port mafia. time progressed, and they drifted apart. 5 years later, he saw her again with a child's hand in her own.
it was the only time hirotsu had ever requested time off from the mafia.
it was awkward, his former lover telling him that she didn't think he needed to know about it because she wanted to raise the child herself. however, that's not the kind of man he was, let alone the kind of man he'd ever been. it started by asking her name, then he wanted to be properly introduced to her. after a few years, he would have coffee with his partially estranged daughter every other month. he often sent money, which was never used out of pride. when [_____] decided to pursue her studies, she found the stash of cash her mother had been hiding and decided she didn't care for pride. apparently, she was jumped when getting home after a long day of lectures, and her use of her ability got people talking. before she knew it, she was being recruited to the underground for enough money to set her for life.
it took several years for her relationship with hirotsu to improve, but there seemed to be some kind of mutual respect between father and daughter.
not in the mafia.
"dad, I'm not going to do something just because you-"
"I'm your superior, [_____], you can't give me attitude like a teenager. and don't call me dad in these settings."
tachihara thought it was funny. she seemed to like innocently getting on her dad's nerves, and she often used him to do it. she'd get bold some nights and flirt with him right in front of the old man's face. tachihara would feel guilty if he didn't think it was fucking hilarious.
on this particular evening, she didn't seem to have anything better to do than pester him and do her absolute best to get on his nerves.
"so you're saying you've never seen him drunk? not even once?" she giggled, sitting on the table as he tried to write his report for their last mission. her feet were swinging and the table would shake with every swing of her legs, and it was getting harder and harder to concentrate.
"no, look, can you just shut the fuck up for a second so I can write this?" he nearly snapped the pencil in half. her smirk only grew at the sight of him being frustrated. "do you really have nothing better to do with your time?"
"nahh." her chest vibrated with a playful chuckle. she tilted her head at him, then slammed her hand onto the pile of papers he was trying to fill in. "this is lame, paperwork isn't for our kind. c'mon, don't tell me this isn't boring you out of your mind, red. let's go do something else."
one fleeting thought of 'fuck it', and suddenly they were at a bar, downing shots like they were on a mission.
"I bet... you couldn't handle 3 more," she slurred, liquid swirling around dangerously close to the rim of the glass, threatening to spill over. somehow, her shit eating grin was unaffected by the liquor; if anything, she'd gotten worse. her fingers would settle on his thighs grip too tight and too far up, the tips of her shoes would play footsie with him, and she straight-up tried to kiss him a few times. she couldn't handle her drinks very well, and he had only now realized what a stupid decision it was to take her up on her offer.
"that's enough for the whole month, [_____]," he rolled his eyes with his signature scoff, and grabbed her wrist to push it away from where she was teasing at. "you need to go home."
"are you finally gonna take me home, pretty boy?" she tried to lean in again, and he scooted backwards. flirting with his boss' daughter for fun was one thing, but something about her demeanor tonight seemed serious. he just hoped she was too drunk to remember the blush dusting his cheekbones.
"I am going to call you a cab." he enunciated every word clearly so she understood it, but as soon as his hand reached into his pocket, she placed hers on top to stop him.
the look in her eyes looked completely sober.
"I'm serious," she whispered, and he could practically feel her gaze on his lips. her eyes darted back up to his own, but before she could say something else that would confuse him further, she seemed to realize her words and her entire face flushed a deeper colour.
she stammered something incomprehensible, threw way too much cash onto the table and walked (if you can call it that) outside. tachihara didn't know what to do, so he just watched her go. she'll probably be fine. probably.
he didn't know why his face felt so hot and his cheeks hurt from a subtle smile.
weeks later, and they'd made a tradition of skipping out on reports to go do something, anything except what they were supposed to do. walking along abandoned streets at night in hopes of picking up a fight, or going to a bar and picking someone for the other to take in a fistfight. a lot of it involved fighting. all of it, really. they'd show up to work the next day littered in matching bruises, and hirotsu's face would glow red and he'd have to excuse himself. giggling like children who knew exactly what they were doing.
tonight, tachihara got knocked out by a man twice his size, and it took her using her ability to get him to back off her partner in crime. she dragged him to her apartment to put some ice on it.
"that was really funny," she teased, tossing him a bag of assorted frozen items to place on his temple, which took the brunt of it. "I though you were really a goner for a second, there."
"ha, ha." the sarcasm was dry, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the thrill of seeing his life flash before his eyes. "I would've liked to see you try."
"an ambulance had to pick up the guy after I was done with him," she retorted, sitting on the sofa next to him with her feet up on the armrest. "actually, I've been meaning to ask you something."
a sigh in response. he took off the frozen bag from his skin and set it on the table, then looked at her. she winced.
"that's gonna need stitches, tachi," she remarked, then thought for a little bit. "I have glue somewhere, we can use that for now then have the port mafia medic fix it tomorrow, yeah?"
she didn't wait for a response, disappeared and reappeared after a string of curses thrown at herself for not being organized enough to know where she puts things. she had what was possibly medical glue but also possibly craft glue in her hands, and she glared at him. "lay down, dr. [_____] is here to save the day."
he quirked up a brow, then quickly relaxed his face after realizing the pain that was brought on by doing that. "weren't you drunk earlier tonight?"
"greatness knows not the bounds of liquor."
"what the fuck does that mean?"
she only giggled, then sat next to his head as she pinched together the skin and tried to apply the glue. her hands were shaking and it was clear she had no idea what she was doing, but tachihara prayed she was doing more good than harm. although, who knows.
"ow, ow, take it fucking easy," he grit his teeth together as she manhandled his injury. he could've sworn he saw her grinning at his pain.
"calm down princess, I'm done," she raised her hands in a sign of innocence, then took a closer look at her work.
tachihara watched in slow motion as her gaze moved further and further up his face.
"is... is your hair dyed?"
the room went dead silent. he had no idea what to respond, and for the first time since he joined the mafia, he felt stupid for letting his guard down. how did he forget to retouch his roots and then let someone get so close? how-
"you'd look really cute with black hair."
...what?
"that's your natural hair colour, right?" she kept going, raking her fingertips through his hair. "man, I feel lied to, I called you red for so long. why'd you dye it?"
"because I fuckin' felt like it," he grumbled out, having no other response. he felt such relief when she just giggled to his answer.
"fair enough. red was definitely the right colour, though. you'd look like shit if you went blonde."
he was so glad she let it go. he tried to sit upright, his head still throbbing from the pain, but she just looked at him curiously.
"I'll get you another mystery frozen item from the freezer," she laughed, getting up and rummaging through her kitchen. even with her face in the door of the fridge, she spoke, "I still haven't asked you my question from before, by the way. I just wanted to know how you got into the mafia."
out of one tight situation and into another.
he considered it; he considered it long and hard, way before she'd ever even asked the question. most of the time, if anyone asks, he'd just say it was none of their business. but he couldn't get away with that kind of response with her.
so, he told the truth.
"my... my brother joined the army during the great war. I just... I hated being compared to him by my family, so I wanted to get as far away as possible from his path, and ended up at the mafia. nothing much to it."
at least, part of the truth.
she pulled her face out of the fridge, looking at his expression for a moment. she tossed him another frozen bag and quickly sat back at his side.
"that sucks. was dying your hair also part of your rebellious phase?"
his nostrils flared at her teasing and he rolled his eyes, barely holding back a grin. "shut up."
laughing, she moved her body closer to his and put a hand on his delicately. "seriously, though, sorry to hear that your family didn't treat you right. I mean... I don't have that with my parents, but I know that it's tough being compared with someone else. but I don't know how that would apply to you. you're literally who I wanted to grow up to be."
he put down the ice pack because clearly it was affecting his hearing.
"like... I dunno. you're a badass who doesn't take shit from anybody. I mean, sure, you get your ass handed to you in bar fights and you don't have an ability, but so what? dad respects you, and so do I. not really sure how your brother compares to that."
this time, there wasn't anything to hide the stupid expression on his face. he just looked at her blankly like he'd never received a compliment in his life, which made her laugh even more.
"man, you really do have self-esteem issues, dontcha? if I had known you couldn't handle compliments, I would've said this ages ago. anyways," she got up, again, and stretched out her back, "don't worry about it, let's pretend that conversation ended there. so, are we dying your hair at your place or mine? because I don't have any dye and the store closes soon if we're gonna go buy some."
his mind could barely keep up with the way she was jumping from topic to topic. in the end, he just pushed his confession and her response to the back of his mind, and got up as well with a shrug. "my place, then. but you don't need to-"
"nonsense! I've been wanting to try to dye someone else's hair forever. plus, you're my partner in crime, I can't let anyone see that you're a big fat liar of a redhead."
her laugh felt so comforting to him. he felt like he was floating out of her apartment, out onto the street and all the way back to his own. his mind was just a blur (maybe it was from a concussion from the blow?) and in no time, he found himself sitting down with his head in between her thighs, gloved fingers massaging his scalp.
"okay, so the instructions say to rinse off and you're good!" she beamed, looking at her work proudly. "no need to thank me, by the way. despite my professional work, this one's on the house."
he chuckled, getting up and being careful not to get anything to touch the stained hair. "fine, then I won't thank you. I could've done this myself too, but you insisted, so if anything I should be charging you money."
shaking her head aggressively, she placed a finger on his lips while attempting to look solemn. "in that case, let us never speak of this again."
a few more minutes, and he was in the shower, the excess red streaming down from the water and making a puddle at his feet. she kept talking to him, loudly, from the other side of the door.
"how's it going so far?"
"it's almost all out, just be patient, damn," he laughed back, the final bits of red coming out of his hair until all the water that went through his hair came out clear. he turned off the faucet, and the stream stopped. he had barely dried his hair and wrapped a towel around his hips before he saw the door open.
"[_____], what the fuck-"
"sh, I want to see how it came out," she strolled right up to him and grabbed his face with one hand, tilting it in different directions to see all angles of his wet hair. as if he wasn't nearly naked right now. as if this was perfectly normal. "it looks good, but it's still wet so the colour doesn't show fully yet, right?"
he grabbed her hand and pulled it off of his face, looking at her seriously. "[_____], don't play dumb, you-"
"... saw an opportunity to see you shirtless, and I took it," she shot him a grin. then she suddenly seemed to get a little sad as she shook her head. "sorry, that isn't funny. um... I'll wait outside."
he watched her walk out just as quickly as she walked in. he slipped on his clothes quickly, then walked out to go find her standing at the entrance, putting on her shoes. ready to leave.
"hey, what are you..."
she cut him off, not even maintaining eye contact as she slipped her heel downwards and tied up the shoelaces. "look, tachi, I'm sorry. I just get excited sometimes and forget you don't feel the same way."
"what the fuck do you mean, don't feel the same way?"
now, her gaze met his. she looked confused. "I told you, weeks ago, that I was serious about the flirting. I even tried to kiss you, and kept dodging, so I got the message. it's fine, I get it. boss' daughter, or maybe I'm just not your type or whatever, but it's okay. I don't mind, I'm getting over it."
"holy fuck, [_____], you were drunk when you said that and I thought you were..."
he couldn't finish his thought. it was hard not to notice the hope in her eyes as she seemed to realize that he hadn't actually said no yet.
so, he said yes.
she kicked off her shoes hastily as his hands went to her waist and he pushed her back against the wall, lips eagerly devouring hers. her head slammed backwards, but her hips were pushed forwards to meet his own. her hands on his chest; one of his on her waist while the other secured itself at the base of her neck, pulling her in closer.
it was hot sweaty and fast, and they ended up back in the shower. he didn't expect her hands to roam the way they did, but she'd managed to have his entire chest coated in her touch before they even made it inside.
she murmured his name into his lips, and he responded by biting her lower lip harder. her fingertips were now on his back, his tight frame feeling warm and so right as it grinded on hers. her thigh went up to his side, and tachihara realized just how much she wanted him. fuck. he couldn't believe he waited so long for this for no reason.
he dropped down to his knees. as soon as she saw him look up, her thighs clenched together and he could feel them shaking in anticipation. he threw one leg over his shoulder and his breath barely hit her pussy before he was eating her out like a man starved.
and she was so damn loud. every flick of his tongue on her clit, every time he sucked on her lips, every thrust of his fingers inside of her, she seemed to get more vocal. at first, it was just curses, mumbling fuck like it was the only word left in her vocabulary. then his name. he'd never heard her say it like that before; she'd called him tachi sometimes, but never michizou. just the sound had him dragging his free hand from her ass down to his erection, palming himself as she kept moaning out for him. it was worse when she'd roll out the praises. fuck you feel so good... michizou, hngg... fuck keep doing it like that, you're so perfect... and she'd gasp as he sucked on her needy pussy and tell him how perfect he felt inside of her all over again.
he couldn't even handle getting her to climax before he lost control. his face was still buried between her legs, but he couldn't concentrate on the way her hips would grind on his face anymore. he needed relief and he needed it fast. she glanced down to find him pounding himself, and her hand at the back of his head gripped down on his hair and yanked him upwards. back on his feet, she brought his lips back to her own before briefly pulling away, spitting in her hand and taking his cock in it.
his forehead was pressed up against hers, but he was having trouble maintaining the kiss through broken moans and grunts. he'd try to bite his lower lip to muffle a whimper, but every time he did, she would just pump him harder until it was impossible to muffle the sounds he was making. every scream from his lips drove her pace to the next gear until he was coming undone under the soft drizzle of hot water droplets, washing down his cum from her stomach.
she took it slower, gentler as he felt so fucking raw from falling apart so fast under her touch. she let go of him and placed his cock between her thighs and pressed them together, letting him rock his hips and fuck them as she kisses him again. her lips get rougher, as she goes from peppering his jawline with love to nibbling on his earlobe to piercing his skin and leaving marks on his neck that won't go away anytime soon. he arcs his neck backwards, tilting his chin upwards to give her better access as she gets greedier and greedier, taste of his flesh intoxicating her.
"michizou..." she sighed into his skin, then brought his face back up to her level, one hand in his hair and the other positioned on his abdomen as her thighs are glistening from the hot water vapor of the shower, her arousal trickling down and the pre-cum already leaking out his tip. "fuck, michizou, your body... you're so gorgeous, I just want to wreck you until you forget your own fucking name." her words weren't particularly sultry or pretty, but the way she was murmuring it into another kiss got him hard all over again.
"baby, can we... bedroom..." the ask barely left her lips before his hands went onto her hips, lifting her up a little bit as they stumbled out of the shower, barely wiped themselves dry with the towels and connected their mouths again as he pulled her to his room. she backed him inside then pushed his shoulders, his back bouncing on the mattress as he realized this was the first time he was seeing her, fully bare in front of him, in his bedroom. just the sight of her perky tits and curves got saliva pooling under his tongue and eyes scanning her hungrily.
she turned her head around, looking in his room for a few moments before opening drawers and boxes like she was in a hurry to locate something. he shot her a look.
"[_____], what are you..."
she pulled out two belts from a drawer with a grin on her lips.
fuck.
she murmured something about not needing to do this if he didn't want to as she climbed on top of him and kissed him gently, but he just rutted his hips upwards in a desperate motion to show her just how much he wanted her.
in one motion, his wrists were tied together with the first belt and pinned above his head. in another, he was biting down on worn leather and a makeshift gag was soaking up all the drool he couldn't control. that was the point: he couldn't control anything. and it felt so fucking amazing.
she kept stealing glances at him as she checked to make sure he was still on board, and when he gave her a slow nod, she flipped him onto his stomach and secured his hips under her own, legs spread out over his ass.
with only her hips, she pushed him downwards so that his dick pushed up against the sheets and the mattress. she knew it wasn't enough to do anything but edge him until he went mad, and no matter how much the bed was shaking and the frame was creaking, it wouldn't be as good as what he felt fucking her thighs. but the view was so damn pretty: his face drowning messily in the sheets, mouth gagged and wrists tied together. she grabbed a handful of his wet hair and yanked him back as she grinded slowly on his ass, dripping lustfully onto him.
it was fun edging him, but the muffled whimpers signaled he was desperate. giving into his desires, she plunged her hand between his parted legs and gripped onto his cock which was humping the mattress. she just held him with a hard grip, and he did all the work for himself, thrusting his hips as well as he could while pinned down by her weight and restrained. tears were prickling at the corners of his eyes. he wanted to tell her how badly he needed her, but the damn gag was turning his pleas into muffled whimpers and moans.
she finally let him out from under her body and flipped him onto his back, but not before stealing in a smack on his ass, which was now coated in her pussy's tears.
"want me to fuck you, baby?" she murmured with a smirk, leaning down to let her lips brush up against the shell of his ear. "is that what you wanna say?"
he nodded hastily, no more shame as now the only thing he could feel was the need for her tight pussy around him. she loosened the gag, then slid it off of his mouth in order to kiss him again. "I wanna hear you. I wanna hear your pretty voice telling me how good I'm fucking your cock, yeah? can you do that for me, michi?"
he couldn't even respond as she lowered herself onto him and dragged a long moan from deep within his lungs, which were on fire. he could barely breathe, he could barely think. all he could do was what she told him and jut his hips upwards to hit her as deep as possible. all the control she had and she couldn't help but curl her toes and dig her fingernails into his shoulders as he screamed out her name and groaned with every thrust. his eyes squeezed shut as he let the feeling wash over him, but they didn't stay that way for long as they locked onto her tits, which were bouncing up and down with her on him, not to mention her face was hot and her hair was still wet from the shower.
it was too much, too fast, despite the slow build up she forced him to endure, suddenly he found himself choking as he tried to tell her that he was close. she was first; walls collapsed around him and she exhaled a thready verse of his name. she finally let him pull out at the last minute, and he came all over himself, stomach coated in the warm sticky liquid. her chest rose and fell with every heavy breath as she watched him, then unfastened the restraints around his wrists.
he wiped his stomach clean with one of the sheets and tossed it somewhere in the corner, a problem for tomorrow, then slipped under the rest of them.
she shot him a hesitant look. "do you want... can I stay?"
he grabbed her wrist and pulled her body onto his, then pressed a lazy kiss on her forehead. "always."
"sap," she teased, snuggling into his warmth and wrapping her arms around his waist. "my dad is gonna go fucking feral when he hears about this."
a gentle chuckle. "isn't that what you've been tryin' to do ever since day 1?"
"shut up, sap," she grumbled into his chest, eyes fluttering shut as she remembers his hair then fluffs it. she craned her neck upwards to get a better look, and smiled softly. "the dye turned out well."
"next time, I'll let the colour grow out," he whispered, dreamy amber eyes looking at her through low eyelids, "since you said it would look cute."
"sap!" she cried out again dramatically, then kissed him slowly again before looking at his face again. "I really did mean it, by the way. when I said that you're perfect to me."
he blushed; somehow, that was what brought the most colour to his face all night. still, he was without a response. he just slid his fingers up her back and pulled her closer. he buried his nose in the top of her head before he thought of a response. "sap."
"shut up."
they giggled and fell asleep in a world where everything was right.
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THE SIX THAT THRIVE IS A 18+ INTERACTIVE FICTION! THIS DEALS WITH DISTURBING THEMES OF HORROR, MURDER, GORE, VIOLENCE, EXPLICIT SEX SCENES, ABUSE, DISCRIMINATION, AND DARK ROMANCE! PLEASE BE AWARE WHEN INTERACTING WITH THIS STORY
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♡ | DELVE DEEPER |
♡ | DEMO | ~ LAST UPDATED: AUGUST 2ND 2023
♡ | PATREON | DISCORD | ASK BOX |
· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·
AMERICA | NORTHEAST | DISTRICT 6 | DATE UNKOWN
ILLECEBRA
/ilˈle.ke.bra/
/noun/
1. the state of enticement and or lure.
· · ───── · ☼ · ───── · ·
“Anyone with the illecebra Illness is destined to die at the age of 22. There is no cure.”
You were destined to die in 22 years. Since the moment of your birth, you have known your downfall. The age in which you die. You aren’t sure why your parents told you, why they wanted you to know on your tenth birthday, but they did. Holding back tears as if they were the ones to suffer, as if they knew the exact moments they’d die. You like to pretend they prepared you, made you live your life without fear, but—
You’re 22 this year. With no cure in sight, and no way to prevent what is bound to happen to you. You’ll die and you’ll die soon. Unless you can make a deal.
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Nearly two thousand years ago, creatures assumed only myth broke free from the ground and ripped away the sky. Fighting amongst themselves and fighting and killing humans. Unable to fight against these creatures, the creation of districts came into being, representing states, nations, and countries, bound to crawl amongst the floor and a dome of safety for the humans living.
Your story begins within the District of Six, one of the first domes built, and the location of the Eclipse Facility, which is in charge of studying Subjects who are monsters from the outside.
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☼ Bring Death to a vicious cycle and allow destiny to take a course or Save a vicious world, which seems to be beyond saving. It is up to you.
☼ Customizable MC
[Name, Personality, Gender, Pronouns, Appearance(tattoos n scars), Traits, Allergies, Diet, Piercings, Aesthetics, & More]
☼ Ability to have certain traits, likes, and disabilities
[Favorite Foods, Smoking/Drinking Habits, & More]
[Personality, Mental Illness, Hearing Aids, Prosthetic Arms or Legs and choosing how you lost + MORE]
☼ Options that have and effect on romantic and platonic relationships.
☼ Choose between seven romanceable Love Interests or None at All.
☼ Stats that will affect the story.
☼ The ability to fight, run, hide, and survive.
[Harem Route & Poly Routes Optional]
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☽☼☾ [THE DEMON] SUBJECT F-24:
THE FIRE WHICH BREATHS — {AMAB - MAN}
A sadistic and sarcastic demon that is often quiet and looms around you like a shadow, he's oddly cold to others and can be described as being dosed with water. He's smart, far smarter than the others, and only cares for your input. He's murderous and has no qualms about killing others for you. No matter how good they seem. He's lazy but has an extremely good sense of smell and exceptional hearing.
“What the others think, matter not. I’m here for you and you alone.”
༺ Appearance:
6’7FT[200.66CM] He says long, shaggy black hair that reaches his waist and messy side hair pieces that messily shape his face. He has striking almond-shaped gold eyes that seem to glow. He has an athletic build and warm tan skin that's littered with scars, such as cuts, bites, gashes, healed bullet holes, and claw marks. He has a facial scar that runs vertically along his lip's left side.
[UNKNOWN YRS OLD, SPECIES: DEMON BLOODHOUND]
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☽☼☾ [THE ANGEL] SUBJECT L-18:
THE WESTERN WINDS WHICH BLOWS — {AFAB - WOMAN}
A calm and energetic person who switches often. Sometimes being extremely energetic and loud, while others, she's calming, and sometimes you forget she's even there. She's kind and loves humans and mortals. She finds their short lifespans adorable and thinks humans are adorable since she's lived many lifetimes. She is quite the birdbrain and often jumps from topic to topic.
“Aw, humans are the cutest~ I just love, love, love ‘em!”
༺ Appearance:
6’0FT[182.88CM] She's a tall woman with the orangish-yellow talons and legs of a harpy eagle, with two large white wings that fade into a pastel yellow. She has the tail of a bird, which is a pastel yellow that fades into a pastel blue. Her skin is white, almost yellow, and she's covered in an assortment of blue freckles, varying in color.
[3000 YRS OLD, SPECIES: HARPY]
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☽☼☾ [THE DRAGON] SUBJECT R-12:
THE WATER IN WHICH BITES — {??? - GENDERFLUID}
A quiet and soft-spoken woman who spends most of his time reading. She's very straightforward, blunt, and struggles to pick up on social cues. He likes the dark and spends time in the dark corners, only speaking up when necessary. She's obedient and kind but dislikes humans.
“… No. It is simply easier for my skin to remain in the dark.”
༺ Appearance:
5’11FT(180.34CM) She's a tall and slender woman with dark brown skin that looks almost black and black eyes. She has raven black hair that reaches her feet, with two long dark blue horns. Her back is lined with dark blue spikes. Her wrist, upper thighs, upper arms, and ankles have white armbands. She also has a thick lizard-like tail with spikes that run along the middle. While her forehead has an intricate design, similar to a circlet.
[UNKNOWN YRS OLD, SPECIES: DRAGON(UNCOMFIRMED)]
· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·
☽☼☾ [THE ARMADILLO] SUBJECT X-6:
THE EARTH IN WHICH LIVES — {AMAB - GENDERFLUID}
A hardheaded and stubborn individual who is strong-willed but hates change. They often spend time sleeping, curled up into a ball like a rolly-polly. They hate humans and don't shy away from letting you know; they're sometimes outspoken and aggressive.
“Get away, please! The last thing I need is human cooties!”
༺ Appearance:
6’10FT(208.28CM) He has deep brown skin and glowing emerald green eyes, with pale brown armor plates along his back, starting at the base of his neck, with a long flat tail that drags behind him. He has short curly dark brown hair, and his face is dusted in white and pale brown freckles.
[1046 YRS OLD, SPECIES: UNKNOWN (WITHIN ARMADILLO FAMILY)]
· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·
☽☼☾ THE WARDEN:
THE VOID WHICH BECKONS — {AMAB - MAN}
A towering, intimidating man that rarely speaks but is quite sadistic. He cares for order more than justice and is okay with playing the role of the bad guy. He prefers it. He's seen as emotionless and uncaring but constantly aware of his surroundings. He demands attention and unwavering loyalty.
“You must simply follow the rules. Or die. There is no other option.”
༺ Appearance:
6’7FT[200.66CM] Simple black slacks, thick black winter trench with silver buckles and chains, and a black helmet similar to a 12th Century English Knight.
[UNKNOWN YRS OLD, SPECIES: SPECKULATED SHADOW BEING OR CHAOS DEMON]
· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·
TWO HIDDEN LOVE INTERESTS - THE KING & ????
· · ─────── ·☽☼☾· ─────── · ·
☽☼☾ HAREM [MAIN] ROUTE:
F-24, L-18, R-12, X-6, WARDEN, & MC
☽☼☾ POLY ROUTES:
Poly Route One: F-24, WARDEN, & MC
Poly Route Two: L-18, R-12, & MC
Poly Route Three: L-18, R-12, X-6, & MC
Poly Route Four: R-12, Warden, & MC
Poly Route Five: X-6, Warden, & MC
Poly Route Six: F-24, R-12, Warden, & MC
Poly Route Seven: F-24, R-12, & MC
[You’ll learn their names in book]
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ⓒ 2023 CVLUTOSGAMES & the-six-that-thrive-if — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.
706 notes · View notes
chronical-lover · 12 days
Text
pay off your debt!! pt2
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pairing - bakugou k. + kirishima e.
genre - fluff ig + meet cute
a/n - part 2 to this post so yay
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Bakugou hated festivals. The loud music, the drunkards and their singing, and the noise; irritated him to no end. Unfortunately for him, his dragon shifter partner loved them. He always made them at least spend a day at every festival they came across, and this one was no different. He couldn't say no to this festival; after all, it was Christmas, and his partner loved Christmas.
Snow fell softly from the sky like powdered sugar, and the children ran about trying to catch them. Although Kirishima appeared eager to accompany them, the aroma of roast meat quickly diverted him, and he went running towards the row of food vendors. Bakugou could feel his pockets groan, but for Kirishima's sake, he kept his mouth shut for once. The festival was going pretty well for a while, Kirishima was being fed well and tussling with the rowdy children in the snow, blowing small puffs of fire to hear the children squeal, and Bakugou rested on a stool, nursing a beer and watching closely. He was at peace for only a second before a shriek pierced the peaceful town.
Bakugou and Kirishima immediately jumped to their feet, surveying the area for where the scream came from. They didn't have to look for long as a boar-like creature burst through a stall, sending glass bottles flying, its roars shaking icicles off houses. The two jumped into action, blocking the townspeople from the boar's path and. attacking it. The boar tried to lunge at the children, but Kirishima semi-shifted and tackled it into the forest with an earth-shattering roar. Bakugou dashed after the two, ducking between trees and vaulting over broken tree branches. After a few minutes of running, he reached the two battling beasts, watching them in a standoff next to what looked like an abandoned house.
Bakugou whistles sharply, and Kirishima throws himself off the beast, landing by his side. He feels a twinge of worry about his bruises but pushes them down. The boar turns and roars at the two of them, its eyes glowing amber. Kirishima growls in response, and both lunge at it in sync. After a few more minutes of fighting and a few choice words from Bakugou, Kirishima slammed his body into the beast, and it went flying into the abandoned house. The two sighed with relief at the silence before a roar cried out from the destroyed porch, and it began climbing its way out of the rubble. The two prepared for another fight, but a sharp gasp filled their ears.
"My house! I've been gone for one hour, and now there's a giant hole in my porch! God damned it! I knew I should have put more wards up!"
They looked around and saw you angrily walking up the path towards the wreckage. You seemed to be bursting with magic as colourful sparks of light flickered on your skin. Bakugou fixed his glare on your approaching form.
"You need to leave now. That boar, or whatever the fuck that thing is, is about t-"
On cue, the boar burst through the wreckage and prepared to charge at you instead of them, picking you as its new target. Any average person would be terrified, but you just scoffed and turned your annoyance towards the boar. It snarled and lunged at you with murder in its eyes.
You simply scoffed and snapped your fingers. The terrifying beast became a squealing piglet in a puff of smoke, rolling about in the snow. The two stood stunned at how easily you had taken down the beast. With that dealt with, you turned back to them with a sharp glare. The two adventurers have faced monsters and villains galore, but your glare was enough to invoke the fear of the gods in them.
"Well, what are you standing around for? Do you plan on paying up or not?" you growled, waving a hand at your house.
"We're sorry… Uh, I can spare some gold from my hoard?" Kirishima piped up, feeling shame creep up his spine. He nudged Bakugou sharply in the ribs, and he grumbled before meeting your eyes head-on.
"Yeah, sorry, or whatever the fuck… I'll pay what you need to fix it." He said this while punching the dragon shifter in the shoulder in retaliation. You sighed and shook your head, glancing back at your now-demolished porch. You stuck a hand out and twirled it, causing pieces of it to start assembling slowly. Your eyes glowed as the house worked to piece itself back together.
"It won't be permanent before you get any ideas; I'm just doing this so that no animals decide to take up residence inside while we walk." You spoke up, fixing your eyes back on them.
"Walk? Walk where?" Kirishima asked, tilting his head in confusion. You bit your lip to stifle a laugh at how cute he was.
"Well, you’re not paying me to fix my house and I’m not letting you two leave my sight until then, so let’s go! I was on my way to the festival anyway."
And with that, you stalked past them and made your way down the path back to the town. Snowflakes flew around your body like butterflies, changing colours with every step you took.
"I, for one, don't want to keep them waiting! Let's go!" Kirishima cheered, bounding after you with his tail wagging like crazy. Bakugou only groaned and lumbered after the two of you with a scowl.
A perfect way to spend Christmas.
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Text
Repudiation - MITO
Pairing: ex boyfriend! MITO x gn! reader
Genre: angst (but with a “happy” ending)
Warning(s): mito is his own individual (no ian mentions), mentions toxic relationship, mito refuses to let you go, the m in mito stands for mad man, bonnie & clyde mentions (ifykyk), slight self harm mention
A/N: I got inspired to write this because 1. I love Mito and his involvement with The Other Side lore and 2. I read pt. 1 and 2 of Set My Wings On Fire by @nirvanawrites111
A/N: Is it fucked up that I was lowkey giggling while writing this?
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It was a quarter before midnight. The cold raindrops poured down from the sky, tapping against your black umbrella as you walked from your now ex boyfriend’s house. Your mind was racing although you were upset.. You weren’t as upset as you’d thought you’d be. It was more complicated than explained. When you and.. Him Mito broke up, you thought that hole in your heart could never be filled again. Too broken to fix. Too wounded to be cured. Even when you were in a new relationship, your mind was still in the past imagining that he was with you instead. You felt your chest start to close in on itself, your lungs burning, aching for a release as your eyes watered, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks like a waterfall. Fuck.
You grabbed your phone, smacking your teeth when realizing that it’s almost dead. You swallowed down your urge to scream and cause a scene despite the empty sidewalk you were occupying. You tried to think of a solution. Maybe call someone? Try to call a taxi? You only had 5 percent battery left. You go to phone a friend until you hear whistling through the rain. At first you didn’t think much of it until you recognized the tune of said whistling. A tune he created and would always mimic with his fingers or guitar.
It can’t be…
Right?
“I’ve been looking for you (Y/N)” his gravelly voice still gave your spine chills. You kept walking but you knew he would follow you like he always did.
“I know you hear me speaking to you (Y/N)” You sigh and stop walking with your back turned to him.
“How did you find me?”
“That’s not a nice way to greet your love now is it?”
“Mito.”
“I love when you say my name angel” you could hear the cheekiness in his voice, making you more frustrated.
“What do you want?”
“There’s plenty that I want but I need you. I need to fix what we had” You scoffed.
“You need me? Even after everything you’ve done to me? I’d rather die”
“I visited death many times before darling so I know that’s an exaggeration from you”
“Can you just leave me alone? You’ve already ruined my life enough”
“If I really did ruin your life, you wouldn’t be standing to tell the tale, isn’t that right?”
“You’re fucking crazy.” You feel his eyes stare daggers into your back, piercing through your skin. Then he laughed but it didn’t sound joyful.
“I’d prefer the term, misguided, but I’ll play along with your game (Y/N) since I’m crazy” The air went stiff.
“Do you want me to show you crazy?” You flinched as you felt his warm breath brush against the nape of your neck, leaving goosebumps on your skin.
“Get off of me..”
“Answer my question~”
“No, I don’t”
“What a shame. I was going to show you what I did with the cunt’s body once you left the apartment” You turn around and face him, hoping you didn’t hear what you just heard.
“You what?”
“And you wonder how I always find you. A birdie told me that you had a boyfriend but I originally thought to leave you alone until I found out what the bastard did behind your back so I took matters into my own hands but I did get a little help” A wave of nausea hit you when he smiled despite saying the most corrupt thing.
“How did you.. Why?!” Mito wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in closely.
“Because you’re mine and I always protect what’s mine”
“I’m not yours anymore Mito. You can go to jail for doing this” He smiles wickedly again.
“As if the police would catch me and as long as you don’t say a word, everything will be fine. I didn’t train a snitch, did I?” His dark eyes bored into yours, making you look away from the intense gaze.
“No.. you didn’t but this isn’t right! You killed my ex and expect me to go back to you after doing that!” You tried to push him off but it was pointless, him being twice your size in every way.
“Why would I expect something that I know is going to happen? The old (Y/N) would fawn over it”
“Well I’m not the old (Y/N) anymore, I matured”
“For the worse, you lost the fun in you” He chuckled, frustrating you.
“No, I realized that being with you would cause me nothing but hell”
“But you were happier then, no?” You bit your tongue, unable to defend yourself. You were happier with him. He took care of you when he wasn’t spiraling out of control. He loved you intensely, in ways not even a normal person can mimic. He would carve his own heart out and give it to you to prove his love for you. Though it did scare you at first, not wanting Mito to harm himself to show that he loved you but as time grew, you embraced it.
“I was happier but it only for a little while”
“So you’re saying you weren’t happy with me?”
“That’s not what-”
“Look me in my eyes when you say that.” You look back at Mito, seeing an unrecognizable glint in his eyes, instantly swallowing your words.
“Just as I thought. You’re a bad liar (Y/N). You swear up and down the street that you hate my guts and wished I left you alone but you secretly love it. You love when you’re all I think about. You enjoy corrupting my mind, you’re not innocent in this.” He hisses but his expression wasn’t anger, he was amused. You were caught, you didn’t know what to say in rebuttal. No matter how many times you said no, your heart said yes. Your heart said go back into his arms and everything will be okay. You didn’t realize that you started crying until you felt Mito’s rough hands caress your cheek, wiping your tears.
“I just.. Felt lost after we split. I didn’t know what to do”
“Neither did I, which is why I kept looking for you. You complete me (Y/N) but you kept running from me”
“Because I was afraid that everything wouldn’t be the same again” He chuckled.
“Nothing in this puny little world could make me love you any less darling. You’re my angel, the piece that makes me whole” Your heart swelled at his words.
“All I ask for is you to take me back and we try again” He takes your hand and presses his lips against your knuckle, right on the small “m” scar on your right hand.
“I want to try again” You whisper, the dead butterflies coming back to life.
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mac-and-thefox · 6 months
Text
Some TBI Swiss angst cuz that's the flavor of tonight. Going through a flare up and mentally/physically crashed halfway through the afternoon lesson block so now the Multi Ghoul gets to suffer.
Reader discretion advised. It's a doozy. Sorry, my dears. Mostly hurt/some comfort.
TW: angst, TBI, loss of verbal ability, chronic pain, brain fog, panic attacks
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The weather changed last night. The Ministry has been preparing for a massive storm that is rolling in. Mountain has been working like a ox all week weather-proofing everything to minimize damage.
The temperature has dropped at least 20 degrees from the day before. Everything is quiet in the abbey as the sky grows darker and more ominous with the arrival of nature's fury.
Swiss wakes with a groan and peeks his eyes open. His room is dark, it's cold. He forgot to close his window last night, and there's a frigid breeze blowing through the curtains. Swiss shuts his eyes tightly and burrows under the blankets. His mind feels like it's slogging through knee-deep molasses, delayed and sluggish. His head feels like someone stuffed it full of cotton balls, the droning buzz of bees echoing in his ears, even though the room is dead silent.
His face is on fire. The left side of his jaw is alive and angry, like someone is sliding white-hot needles under his skin, deep into the bone. The stinging ache radiates from his jaw up his face, behind his ear and his eye. He sits up slowly, attempting to massage the tissue, wincing at the inflammation his fingers encounter in his effort at soothing the hurt.
Suddenly, a zap from deep within the back of his brain sends lightning through his senses, whiting out his sight and short circuiting his entire psyche. He clutches his head with a groan as the whole world freezes for a few moments.
Didn't sit up slow enough apparently.
Swiss' hearing and sight slowly returns from the sensory white-out and his stomach drops, distress corrupting his normally velvet scent of dark chocolate and sandlewood.
It's been a year....a year since Swiss had suffered a flare this bad. He was so sure that things were finally nearing normal.
"Oh look...I'm back."
Panic rises up in Swiss' chest and throat as what's still awake and moving in his awareness picks up on that....thing. That place. The jagged hole in his mind that he had worked so hard with Rain and Omega to find and seal away. That Entity in his mind with the dangerous glowing eyes that told Swiss those horrible, awful things that had sent him to the bottomless pit devoid of hope of ever being normal again.
"See? I'm still here and you're still broken."
"You're not strong enough to beat me."
"Weak....you're WEAK."
"Just a useless. Multi. FREAK."
Swiss whines high in his throat and curls up in a ball, his tail winding so tightly around Rain's shark plushie that a seam pops, the sharp sound sending shattered glass through his auditory processing centers.
His breath catches in his throat and he chokes as an icy hand closes around his heart, crushing it tight with intent to maim, to destroy. He screws his eyes shut and whimpers as the facial pain lashes out again at the tension, cutting deep weeping lines in his soul; a brand on his heart that tells everyone he will always be defective, broken. His eyes fly back open, pupils blowing wide with distress and fear as he gasps for breath, trying to return to some sense of stasis.
Maybe if he just closes his eyes and gives in...maybe the Entity will get bored and move on...find different prey to torment and torture. Swiss curls tighter into a ball, covering his eyes, breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps.
....
Cool hands on either side of his face pull him from the depths, bringing him to the surface gasping and scrambling as his eyes fly open and meet eyes of piercing blue. Swiss knows those eyes, his brain struggles to comprehend where he is, what he is seeing. Those eyes and those cool, healing hands have been his salvation everytime the Entity tries to take him away. Swiss grabs on to them like a lifeline.
"Breathe babe, I'm here. I've got you."
Rain runs his thumbs over Swiss' cheeks, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. Swiss breathes out in relief as tears run down his cheeks, the coolness from Rain's touch fighting back the angry heat in his face, Rain's water elemental magic washing gently through his soul with just a whisper of quintessence; chasing the Entity away.
"It can't hurt you. I'm not going to let it, Dearheart."
Rain gathers Swiss up into his chest, rubbing circles with his fingertips into the base of Swiss' skull, laying soft kisses at the base of his horns.
"Rrrr--I--ahh"
Swiss whimpers at the realization that this flare is bad enough that it's taken his words. The connection between his brain and his mouth is muddled, unclear. Shame burns hot through his face to the tips of his ears as he buries it in Rain's neck, whining quietly as the tears make their return.
"Hey...words are hard right now? That's okay, Spark, you don't need to say anything."
"Mounty's gonna be here any second with the poultice for your face. You just stay right here with me, okay? I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
Rain tightens his arms around his mate, twining their tails together as he slowly rocks them back and forth. He murmurs into Swiss' curls, whispering how much he loves his multi ghoul. How brave he is for fighting this fight again.
Mountain enters softly into the room and hands Rain the poultice of turmeric, ginger, and other anti-inflammatory herbs. He curls his giant frame around the water and multi ghoul and holds them tight, pumping out scents of lavender, eucalyptus, and sage. A protector ready to fight any Entity that may come with intent to harm.
Swiss nestles into the protective arms of his mates. Mountain's aromatherapy scents are slowly clearing away the fog in his brain, the poultice drawing away the angry heat pounding in his face. The deep rumbling purrs from the water and earth ghoul grounding and securing him.
Swiss tries to reach out through the bond once his mind is clear enough to do so. Physical words are still too hard.
"I...love you guys..."
"Oh dearheart, we love you so much."
Outside, the storm rails and rages, screaming its fury against the ancient stone walls.
But It's gonna be okay. He's gonna be okay.
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scuttlingcrab · 1 month
Text
Mortals
A Warlock is Born
Summary: Korrilla summons Raphael to aid her in a fight at the Devil’s Fee. Raphael recruits a new warlock to his cause.
Notes: This is part of an ongoing collection of short stories focusing on Raphael and the mortals who have impacted him throughout his existence. Each little story loosely ties into the main plot of Baldur’s Gate 3. The second part will be out soon! 
The first story, The Curse of Lady Luck, can be found here. You do not need to read them in order, as each story is stand-alone.
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(Image via breadandbloodybutter)
Raphael’s spine tingled when he felt Korrilla’s summons. There was a sharp tug at his chest, attempting to pull him towards her requested destination. Not now, imprudent creature. He anchored himself in his chair, falling back into a trance as he stared at his latest painting. His eyes danced over the thick swirling brush strokes and the vibrant oranges and reds of the setting sun.
He had positioned his easel on a hill near Neverwinter, a superb location overlooking the Trackless Sea. Raphael’s preferred spot for seclusion and indulging in mortal leisure pursuits, one of his many guilty pleasures.
The sky was ablaze around Raphael but there was no blistering heat. Instead it was juxtaposed with a gentle breeze that cooled his skin as he watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. There was no equivalent in Avernus, where the raging skies barely changed save for a sparse cloud or two that brought iron rain and the occasional arcane thunderstorm.
Fiery oranges clashed with dark blues and light purples as they fought for the dying attention of the sun. The ocean waves were calm, mirroring the chaos in the skies so perfectly that it looked like an infinite void. Raphael’s mouth salivated as he took it in. He must capture it all, a perfect addition to his ever growing art collection.
Raphael carefully picked up his paintbrush, as if it might crumble with the slightest change of pressure, and dabbed the tip of it in paint. The final stroke. As Raphael brought the brush to his canvas, Korrilla’s second summons tore through his body. He winced as his chest heaved forward, nearly sending him tumbling down the hill. His body flickered between both locations, a loud ringing pierced the air as he got glimpses of Korrilla’s face and the Devil’s Fee; her eyes frenzied, lips tight, she tried shouting something at him but Raphael snarled in response. Her image dissolved as he fought to stay centred in Neverwinter.
When Raphael blinked again, he found himself on the ground and the canvas in tatters beneath him. Raphael had punched a hole through the painting during his struggle against Korrilla’s beckoning. His hands trembled as he picked up the demolished canvas. He could fix it with a snap but that would simply be cheating. Raphael’s jaw locked and he dug his heels into the grass, the soil beneath him bubbling like lava.
“Will this infernal torment ever cease!” 
Raphael roared, his voice booming throughout the deserted beach, louder than any thaumaturgy spell could ever hope to achieve. His canvas caught fire; his work, his precious sunset, dissolving in an instant. Whatever was left of his wasted afternoon blew away with the next breeze.
Raphael rose, his footsteps scorching the grass as he turned away from the ocean. He raised his arm, preparing to furiously snap his fingers but halted, eyes darting to his sleeves, then to his entire doublet, and trousers. He was covered in paint and dirt, his outfit wrinkled and soiled, as if he was a petty commoner. He huffed, disgusted with himself. How very mortal. 
With a snap, Raphael undefiled his clothes, rectifying any hint of failure. He narrowed his eyes, unsure yet of the punishment he would bestow on Korrilla as he vanished into a deafening inferno. 
––
“Korrilla! Did I not explicitly–”
Raphael emerged from his fiery portal and was immediately met with a blaze not of his making. Chaos and disorder welcomed him as he stood agape in the entranceway of the Devil’s Fee. 
The diabolist shop was in ruin. A massive bookshelf on the far left of the room was the main source of fire; the flames grew, slowly licking their way across the ceiling. Raphael stepped forward, his feet crunching against broken glass and stone rubble from the shattered infernal statues that had once proudly stood high. 
One of Helsik’s gilded imps lay mangled in the centre of the room, its body tangled in silk rugs and surrounded by deep claw marks on the parquet flooring. The reception desk was nonexistent, the only remains of the rich mahogany panelling were the sharp splinters scattered across on the floor. 
Raphael’s imagination spun like dice as he observed Helsik’s unconscious body discarded in the far back of the shop, a fallen shelf sat atop her small frame. No amateur could get the better of Helsik, surely? Raphael’s interest had piqued, however he found himself gritting his teeth in frustration as he looked around for Korrilla. She would not get out of this so easily, even in death. 
There was a loud crash from the second floor, glass shattering and muted sounds of struggling; grunting, kicking, the wood creaking above him with every faint movement. In a heartbeat, Raphael was up the stairs. He crept towards Helsik’s quarters, the door to her room falling off its hinges. 
Korrilla was pushed into the far corner of the dining area, her face battered and bruised and her dress nearly burnt to a crisp. A scrawny half-elf gripped a curved dagger at Korrilla’s throat, drawing blood that trailed down her neck. The half-elf had a round youthful face and donned a messy bob. Korrilla outsmarted by that half-breed? A runt of the litter, at best. 
Korrilla’s eyes lit up when she spotted Raphael lurking at the threshold. He did not acknowledge her in return, but continued to focus on the half-elf. His pupils dilated, exuberance simmering inside him as he observed this potential new investment. 
“What an interesting turn of events.” Raphael proclaimed, as he entered the stage with a swagger. 
The half-elf jumped like a spooked rabbit at Raphael’s words, quickly shimmying so that Korrilla’s body was now in front of her. The half-elf squeezed the dagger a bit more into Korrilla’s neck, causing her to grimace. 
“Please, don’t let me stop you.” Raphael guffawed, “I do love a good show.”
Korrilla’s brows furrowed and she bit her lip, any ounce of relief Raphael had brought quickly drained from her face. 
“What I find most curious… is if Korrilla couldn’t kill you, then you must have some talent. Yes? And besting Helsik? She will not be happy when she wakes. Even so, it is amusing to see the Devil’s Fee in such shambles. I’ve often dreamed of this day.” Raphael suppressed another chuckle.
The half-elf met Raphael’s calm visage with fierce eyes and determination. A creature yet to be tamed. This will be most enjoyable. 
“Cat got your tongue? No bother. You will drop that weapon, pretty little thing, before we continue our game.”
“And if I don’t?” The half-elf responded, voice low and quivering.
“I’m afraid you’ll find a very unpleasant end to your miserable little existence. And it will be such a waste, as I hope to make some use out of you.”
The half-elf stared at Raphael, her expression unchanging. 
“Did I forget to note that my patience is wearing thin?” Raphael spoke through pursed lips.
Korrilla’s face twisted as Raphael folded his arms, sensing his impending outburst. 
The wood underneath Raphael’s feet started to smoke as he took a step forward, leaving charred marks in his wake. The half-elf sniffed the air as Raphael approached, her eyes growing in size. Raphael took another step and transfigured into his cambion form, loosening his neck as his wings filled the available space. His tail thrashed and his horns grated against the ceiling like nails on a chalkboard.  
“Drop the weapon.” 
The half-elf released the dagger, kicking it across the room. She raised her hands and backed away from Raphael. 
“I yield.” 
Raphael simpered.
“Wise.” 
Korrilla stumbled forward at her release. She held a hand to the wound in her neck muttering a healing spell to seal it. 
“And YOU!” Raphael rumbled, louring to Korrilla. “You simply couldn’t take care of this creature? You do not know what I have sacrificed to come to your beck and call. Your worth is diminishing, Korrilla.” 
“Please accept my sincerest apologies, Raphael. I await whatever punishment you see fit for my errors.” Korrilla immediately bent the knee, staying submissive and daring not to move even a muscle. 
“We will discuss your punishment later.” 
Raphael stepped away from Korrilla, edging closer to the half-elf. 
“Your name. Now.” 
“Dolofina.” 
“Dolofina…” Raphael repeated, chewing her name in his mouth. 
Raphael raised his hand dramatically above Dolofina. She watched his movement, shrinking away in anticipation. Raphael bared his claws and paused, leaving his hand extended. Just one more moment… let her think it’s the end… Then with a sly smirk, he snapped his fingers and the pair vanished.
––
Raphael and Dolofina materialised in a rain of sparks, dropping into the central chamber of the House of Hope. The large circular table in the middle of the room, usually decorated with platters of delectable food and drink, was bare. A boring sight no less, but he had no time to waste on formalities today.
Dolofina fell to her knees on the polished marble floor, her thump reverberating throughout the vacant halls. Raphael saunted past her, moving towards the wall near the open hearth. He pressed his palm against one of the paintings and it popped open, revealing a hidden bar behind it. 
“Your poison of choice?” Raphael asked, as he uncorked a bottle of Jasmarim Shadow, letting it breathe while readying a glass for himself. 
Dolofina remained on her knees, panting heavily, her hair slick with sweat. Her face grew paler as she shook her head vigorously at Raphael’s hospitality. 
“Oh? Are we not up for celebratory drinks?”
Dolofina floundered to her feet, retching over the balcony. 
“Poor creature. Some get used to the sweltering heat of Avernus. Others simply learn to tolerate it. I can’t make any guarantees.” 
Raphael poured the wine into his glass, savouring the glugging sound that issued from the bottle. Ah, sweet music. He swirled the beverage gently before bringing his nose close to the rim. He inhaled, smiling to himself before taking a sip. 
“Exquisite. Rich and delicate, teases your senses, and makes you crave more, even after the bottle is finished. You can’t find an intoxicant like this anymore.”
Dolofina clung to the railing, dry heaving. 
Raphael closed the painting and sat down on the studded leather couch underneath it, crossing his legs. His eyes surveyed Dolofina, observing every inch of her taut body, her once tall figure now reduced from the heat. What a gaunt little thing, and yet with so much joie de vivre.
He never tired of a mortal’s first introduction to the Hells. Most creatures reacted the same way, with their slight variations. Weeping, laughing hysterically at their fates, one poor sod even had a heart attack and expired in front of Raphael; luckily he had been expeditious to secure the deal so the soul wasn’t squandered. Yes, it was quite cruel, but his infernal blood thirst for the entertainment, the anguish. And oh, the mortal perspiration was mouth-watering. 
“Pray tell, what was so important in the Devil’s Fee that you had to risk it all?”
Dolofina wiped her lips with the back of her hand before steadying herself against the balcony. She hesitantly removed a large diamond from her pocket, holding it between her thumb and index finger. Raphael lazily flicked a wrist and the diamond flew into his hands. Dolofina shrieked, attempting to grab it back.
“Oh, you’re joking?”  
Raphael observed the diamond in his palm, rolling his eyes. 
“I… needed money. They said the Devil’s Fee was an easy target.” 
Raphael squeezed the diamond and his hand was suddenly engulfed in a white inferno. He watched the fire dance around his hands, the sensation tickling his knuckles, before it turned into a striking blue flame that somehow burned even brighter. He released his fist, the blaze dissolved and the diamond vanished, without even a trace of ash. Raphael rubbed his hands together, that was that.
“Twas worthless anyways. Mortals, always attracted to shiny little things of almost no importance.” 
Dolofina stared at Raphael, her face contorted with rage, nostrils flaring. There she is. There’s the fight.
“That was mine. I nearly died retrieving it.” 
“Nothing belongs to you anymore. I am not in a generous mood today, yet your antics have inspired me. I can make use of someone like you. Under my employment, you won’t be resorted to thievery.”
“I don’t work with devils.”
“Oh, is that so?”
Dolofina’s new contract appeared on the table with a low hiss, a quill floating beside it. Raphael didn’t even bother snapping his fingers, his painting, or the lack thereof, lurked at the back of his mind; taunting him, the wound stinging his ego.
“Today’s your lucky day. Refuse, and I strike you down where you stand and consume your soul as a measly canapé. Accept, and you get patronage. Power. Proficiency. And a longer life expectancy.”
“And you want what exactly? My soul?”
“Your soul and your cooperation. You will answer to me and act as my agent. There is a war of the millenia brewing and I need all the strongest fighters. You could become a champion, you know, there is a lot of potential.” 
Dolofina peered over her shoulder, her eyes darting for any possible escape, a window, a door… that glimmer of hope Raphael loved to see sucked away from mortals still lingered on her face. Say goodbye to hope, little pet.
“Signature please, and your life will begin anew.”
Dolofina bit the side of her lip as she inhaled, looking up at the ceiling, as if pleading to the Gods for a last minute intervention. Her green eyes met his as she dragged her feet towards the table. 
“Fucking Nine-Fingers…” Dolofina whispered to herself, “I’ll ring her bloody neck the next time I see her.” 
Dolofina sank into one of the leather chairs in defeat, then signed herself away to Raphael. 
“I will say this only once. In my house there is decorum. There are rules. There is a balance to uphold. If you make the same mistake as you did above, steal from me, even think about breaking the terms of our contract, you will wish for the sweet release of death by the time I am finished with you. Do not make me regret this decision.”
Raphael waved away the contract and Dolofina instantaneously fell to the floor, screaming in agony. Her body convulsed as if she was bewitched and she writhed in pain, tears pouring down her red cheeks. The veins in her legs briefly pulsed, turning dark purple as it continued to grow, slowly travelling up her body. Her hand reached out, as if seeking Raphael’s aid and instead, shot out a crackling bolt of purple lightning at the ceiling, shattering one of the metal chandeliers. It came crashing down next to Raphael, missing him by mere inches. He titled his head to the floor, eagerly watching his new pet, as he took a sip of wine.
“What the–!”  Dolofina screamed again as her body accepted the new torrent of power. 
“You will need training. I know the perfect teacher, and I think you’d get along splendidly.” 
Will be continued.
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thoughtsafterdark · 2 days
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Stigmata
The world is quiet. So quiet. The silence deafens, bends backs, breaks minds. It holds its breath, waiting, biding its time. Still and poised yet tense, every pebble and grain of sand prepared to strike. Like a big cat stalking its prey, shoulders rolling so smoothly as it inches closer and closer. Like oil sliding off the skin of the water. Those moments when it crouches and becomes one with the Savanah. When the golden light of the setting sun sets the land aflame and blades of grass blend with raised heckles until they are one and the same.
It waits for you, for your conception and birth. Molecules aligning, cells dividing, flowers blooming. The water of your mother’s womb is surprisingly thin given the precious life it cushions. It is expelled from your lungs like a sacrament, like a fountain that once erupted from a desert rock millennia ago. Strong lungs as befit a firstborn son. Your first cries pierce the air and shatter the stillness into a million shimmering fragments. The diamonds spill across the inky blackness. A burst of colour from the Lord’s brush, arcing across the sky. Another promise, another new beginning. Yet Gods are foolish, lonely creatures. Their promises ring hollow and false to our suffering ears. The whips crack and our skin splits, oozes all the same. Where was God when my brothers withered and died, the cries ripped from their throats going unanswered?
And yet tell me why as I gaze upon you now, I am compelled to fall to my knees? As if every fibre of my being yearns to bow, to yield - as if your voice bursts from somewhere deep in my squirming gut and heart and not your lips?
Tell me why I itch to bury myself in the crook where your thigh meets groin and inhale the musk there as if your scent holds the Eye of the Needle, as if the grooves of your skin map Heaven’s Kingdom. Would you let me cry tears of rapture at your coming and wash your feet with them and my tongue?
I wonder if such a wonton display of devotion would anger you, frighten you. Would you toss me away in disgust, smash my face into the ground? Break my nose against rock and let me feel the warm flood of blood flow backwards down my throat, let me savour the salt and iron as I swallow devoutly. Tell me why I have never felt so alive as when your holy wrath rains down upon me like fire, like the destruction of Sodom.
I watch you now, standing proud against that same setting sun, gazing across the expanse of your new kingdom. Here as it dips low upon the dunes and the sand lashes at us. Its rays frame raven curls and fracture all around you, as if afraid to touch you and be seduced. A halo that revers yet fears you. It hardens your features as if you were hewn from granite Your jaw tightens against the onslaught, sharp enough to fell armies. Your eyes become the harsh ringing of blade against blade. Gone is the boy with the easy smile tugging at the corner of a mouth, crow’s feet wrinkling eyes. In his place is the cold pyre of divine righteousness. The commander of earth and sky, made to wield sound and air itself. I think of the icons of old, the waxy mournful faces of saints and note what a pale imitation they must be, if they had even a third of your weight.
You are a black hole - all-consuming, inescapable, inevitable - and we are all trapped in your orbit, edging ever closer to the Event Horizon that will surely destroy us. But tell me if our path is so doomed why my heart leaps at the prospect of pledging my death to you? What finer gift is there but that of my last breath, freely given?
In your face I see rivers of blood and the thrum of charging men. I hear the chants of our forefathers and the long line of prophets that came before, accumulating across the centuries into the tapestry that is your flesh.
Yet as you lie here beside me, the darkness kept at bay by the stubborn flame of a lone candle, your face serene with sleep and your sweat acrid and sharp in my nose - I see just a man plagued by a crown of thorns. I think of my hands, bathing in the blood of innocents in your name. Your name, a mantra, a hymn that ignites us all with awe and hunger. I wonder if knowing deep down you are just a man makes me more or less the fool.
Then your eyes open, lashes fluttering, and I see the light burning there and I know messiahs are not born but made in the hearth of a home, in the fierceness of a loyal heart and the beating lifeblood of a people starved of hope. I care not if you bleed red or ichor, I know only that I will follow you into hell itself, until we burn to ash and we become whispers, legends. Until we are nothing but dust floating across the dunes, the wind that stokes the flames of a thousand more rebellions.
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deadboyfriendd · 1 month
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In My Hand
This belongs to the Wild Horses universe, a culmination of blurbs between Eddie and Desert Artist!Reader. Based off of the Gutterballs fic by @dr-aculaaa , based in her Sunday Morning universe!
Blue jean baby, L.A. lady
Seamstress for the band
Pretty-eyed, pirate smile
You'll marry a music man
Ballerina, you must've seen her
Dancing in the sand
And now she's in me, always with me
Tiny dancer in my hand
The thing they don’t mention when you hit Interstate 10 heading westward through Tucson is: there is a vast expanse of nothingness you have to clear first. It is mind-numbing. It is beige. It is open for miles and Eddie fears it may all be a mirage– or that he will drive into a painted-on hole in the side of a mountain and flatten himself. 
No one warned him about the low desert, the beige-ness is all of his utter disdain for it. He pictured red-rocked Sedona, some girl in a flat-bed pickup waiting for him with tanned skin and a backless top. Not this. Mid-february it it was already warm. He thought he could see the mirage warp on the horizon, even when it was broken by the beginnings of buildings coming into his foresight. It is late after-noon by now, sun burning hot and angry but not yet pushed towards that precipice of cooling. He felt it begin to warm his neck past comfort where the black shirt lay across the flat of his back. 
This bar was a dive, for sure. Not unlike his home bar. Reclaimed wood that was probably old fifteen years ago and waxy bar tops that stayed sticky despite the mildewy wetness of the rag that was being passed over it. The bartender was a gruff-looking man, whom Eddie assumed knew how to make two variants of drinks– pulling capped lids off of bottles, or straight liquor, over ice if you were lucky. Eddie took the former, settling himself over a barstool, his guitar in case resting against his knee. 
“No open mic night here, ‘m afraid.” 
“You know of anyone looking?” He’d asked, solemnly hoping for some semblance of tips to get him to the next town. 
“Backtrack the frontage a few miles, you’ll turn back on to a county road that takes you out towards Texas Hill. You’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em. They’re about your type,” He’d said back, taking one last look at him up and down. 
He placed a few dollars on the bar top, telling him to keep the change as he headed out. 
By now, the sun leaked saturated hues into a nitrate sky. Just as the bartender had said, frontage road, county opening, and right out in the middle of the desert lay a congregation of vans, campers, and RV’S. Desert Hills. He’d said in his mind, smugly. A smattering of old, second-hand cars and the marring of people to match. The irony of this all had been incredible. A bus, painted green, was parked sideways across the front of the congregation, a drop-cloth, hand-painted sign reading, “Howl at the Moon”.
A parable of lepers-by-day, though, by night they would peel back the sore to reveal fresh skin and a strong voice. Here, the day started when the sun went down. There is a fire in the center burning hot with blue flame at the nucleus. A sun in which you orbit as a celestial body. 
You are dancing around the fire a liquid dance with no rhyme or reason. It’s fluid in motion and like ribbon in deliverance. You are brilliant, a mass of curls that sway, not as many strands, but a brilliant unit, breaking off into parts that fall over your shoulders and back again. Draped in patched together masses and adorned in turquoise– barefoot in the dune of soft sand with no fear or reverence in what hides beneath. 
“What’re you gonna do with that guitar, Mister? Ya gonna be a rockstar?” You ask, all pretty eyes with lashes that kiss at the corners. 
 He nods, smiling as you take his hand to pull him towards the mass. “That’s the plan.”
“You can be anything you want here.” 
The moon peeks out over the east mountain and you howl in punctuation. It’s a wild and unruly thing, almost like you. It pierces his ears and fills him with warmth. Something stirs in his stomach. Like champagne. You deliver a few light-hearted slaps to his chest in the midst of his, encouraging a loud, crackling howl that bellows from deep within him. It fizzles out in laughter. 
Something about the pitch of your laugh and the dusting of stars across a gradient purple sky makes something move in slow motion and, somehow, it makes him wonder how soft your hair must be at the roots. 
“Well maybe you can play that guitar for me sometime. We’ll make you into a real rockstar.” You tell him, gesturing to the guitar propped against a hay bale. Across the front reads: This Machine Slays Dragons in a hand-lettered font. 
It feels stupid to try to shake your hand, he realizes this after he offers it. You take it anyways, “My name’s Eddie, by the way.”
“Well, Eddie.” You pull your culmination of silver squash blossoms from your neck, chiming a lovely song as they move to rest around his neck, “I knight thee. This land is your land.”
You smile at him, all teeth. “Hope we don’t have any dragons come around.” 
“Or fascists.” he shrugged
“Or fascist dragons.” 
“Then we would really have a problem.” 
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Part Eight: Summons
First Installment: Here.
Last Installment: Here.
Current Installment: You are here!
Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. Red Sail Hall Present Day
“Don’t you dare,”
Arthur’s hand froze over Cromwell’s skull as Rhys slapped his fingers away and down and snatched up bone, gripping the jawless head by the temples and pulling it from reach. Arthur went to take it from him, but they froze as Matthew rolled over from his place and bundled into a quilt. When he didn’t wake, Rhys snapped his gaze back to Arthur, and he found himself being dragged from the study with its electric faux fire and his son draped over the sofa, sleeping like the dead. They were suddenly in the hall, and he found himself pinned against the wall by his brother’s forearm. “You are not waking mother again.”
Arthur thrust the arm away but found he couldn’t move Rhys. He’d always been denser, compact and heavy like a lead ingot. “I don’t need to. I only need the skull and the spring.”‌
“For what? You delusional bastard. Do you fancy you can open a portal?‌ You can barely make a curse box without me, much less this deep in your cups. And you are not sullying her grave with that man’s bones.”
“I have Alfred to consider. Don’t pretend you have the—”
“It’s my name he bears, you bloody bastard. How Saxon do you think Jones is? Hm? All of your children are as much us as they are you. Including Alfred.”‌
“Would you be reasonable?”
“No.” Rhys was very close, a spring force as he stood straight.
“Since when do you—”
“Since you rolled out of a bloody fairy ring and into my lap.” He prodded Arthur towards the stairs. “I am not letting you run off half-cocked because it’s easier to hurl yourself into a void than feel a fucking emotion. This isn’t you tossing yourself into a ship and running; this is a paradigm shift in the universe, you daft cunt.”
“Rhys—”
“May Mother strike me dead before I‌ lose two nephews and a brother at once,” He was very close now, and sometimes ‌Arthur remembered why there was a dragon on every flag his brother used. “You are a grown fucking man with four grown children. Take a fucking avomine, sleep more than thirty seconds, and we’ll make a move in the fucking morning. Go.”‌
Burial Mound, Cumbria The Next Morning
Matthew knows he is dying when his uncle’s arms catch and hold him and he doesn't care. He has bled to death more than once. His shoulder had nearly been torn from his body once; a lobsterback cavalryman had broken an infantry formation he’d been caught in trying to run from the cannon fire. The bare faces of his arm bones saw the sky that day. He never ran away from a fight again. He was a century older when a gaping cavern of flesh appeared where his belly once was. A‌ piece of shrapnel severed his spine and his jugular. And blasted a hole through his front. This is worse. This is much worse, but Alasdair kisses his head, and Matthew stands, blank and unmoving.
He has said goodbye to the two who were once his siblings, and he hopes the squeeze they gave him isn't the last good thing he ever feels. Now he is without them, standing before the ruins of a chapel. Trees soar to the sky, older than most in England, but spaced like the posts of a palisade. He can hear running water and whispers. Aunt Brighid is there. Father asks her something. Softer than he ever does, and she stands tall.
“I‌ wove the spells into his cradle, I‌ will not damn him to a grave so far from home. And the past is another country.”
His father is not often speechless, but the novelty is not enough to stop the bleeding. There is no trace of red, but he wishes it would be over, that it could all seep into the earth and let him go—anything to make the silence end. Even a scream will not pierce it now; it lays so thick over his thoughts. He is dying. Uncle Rhys lights a torch, then two more. Even here, lifting light, Matthew is redundant. He can only follow as his father and uncles follow their sister, lingering behind as she walks ahead. Alasdair, Rhys, and last, Arthur. Perhaps the first time in a thousand years his father has not led. His uncles carve sharp shapes into old indentations softened by exposure. His father cuts his hand and presses blood into the runes until it drips into the furrows and inks their carvings into contrast with the darkness. Matthew cannot read the shapes. His aunt sings, and he does not understand the words. As he always has, he clings to the tree line and watches others do their work. Something in him wants to die. Something in him knows his will, drowning in silence that will not let him hear his own voice anymore.
A woman’s figure appears. His father’s mother, but not his grandmother. Her time is too far gone for him to know her now if he ever did. Matthew’s hands are shaking now. They speak more words he does not understand. The Welsh vowels and little pieces of Scots Gaelic he can hear refuse to make any sense. He knows Gaelic the way he does his French, as natural as breathing, but he cannot put meaning to sound, and nothing makes sense. He wishes he would bleed to death already.
Then, Life.
His world broke open with a song. He doesn’t know which one. Something about a republic and grapes of wrath: the chorus is the laugh of North America, showing teeth and soaring like the sky. Alfred. A‌ branch nearly takes his head off as he smashes through the trees towards the sound. More laughter. His world was born from a bolt of it centuries before. The pool of a spring lap at the stones of the edge, and the water sings in his brother’s voice for a moment before Matthew realizes the sound is below the water. There is no bottom of the pool; the stone edges descend into a black abyss. He would not have understood the depth of it even a moment before Alfred cut himself free from their reality. Kneeling, he touched the edges of the stone and knew the rounded channels locking into place were his uncles doing, the same dry stone construction of a broch.
“Mattie,” Alfred spoke, only barely damped by the water. A week without Alfred and he'd lost more love than Francois had given him in 150 years. Just a thread of it wound around his heart, hearing his name on the piano notes of his brother's laugh and pulled him forward.
He dove.
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mrcloudjumper · 1 year
Text
Happy Anniversary
Hiccup Haddock (RttE) x Male Reader
Notes and/or warnings; idk if there's a healing hut on the Edge, BUT THERE IS NOW.  dragon isn't specified but has a constant fire blast; boneknapper, deadly nadder, monstrous nightmare, etc.  not a one blast like night fury.  Major injury, stitching said injury, stingy alcohol, panicking, being chased/hunted, cussing, mentions of hunters being burned alive, anything else in HTTYD.  not really a warming but very inaccurate healing stuff ™, do not do what this fic says for like 98% of the shit in here.  i think there wasn't actually any usage of pronouns...but masc intended!  fem aligned dni please! and JESUS CHRIST IM SORRY I TOOK TEN YEARS I THOUGHT IT HAD BEEN MAYBE A WEEK AND THEN BOOM IT WAS A MONTH
Request; Can you do a Hiccup Haddock x male reader? (Hiccup is taller then the reader. Hiccup is the dominant and the reader is the submissive) The reader was out exploring while Hiccup was on a ride on Toothless and the reader gets injured pretty badly. So he tries his best to hide it from Hiccup since Hiccup usually doesn't let the male reader explore on his own without either him (Hiccup) or Toothless is with him (male reader) could it be fluff pls? (Like kissing, cuddling, holding hands, etc)
You were running as fast as you could possible could, which honestly wasn’t that fast; given gaping hole in your side.  It was nearing yours and Hiccups anniversary, and all you wanted to do was get a nice gift for him.  But, alas, he essentially never let you out on your own, so the only solution was to sneak out.  Not a good idea when you and your friends are #1 most wanted on the Dragon Hunters’ list.
You had been simply collecting nice flowers, one of the many gifts you planned for Hiccup, when an arrow struck the tree.  (Dragon’s Name) immediately got spooked and ran off, which, to be fair, is exactly what you did.  Just in the opposite direction, unfortunately.  During your…daring escape, more arrows flew, one piercing your side.  You hadn’t even realized it until you were huddled in a cave, heavy and ragged breathing.  
Immediately panicking, you did the worst possible thing; pulled it out.  Quickly you tore off some of your sleeve and wrapped it around, praying to the Gods that you’d be making no trip to Valhalla any time soon.  After you had calmed down just a little bit, you sent off your emergency flare, which (Dragon’s Name) had been trained to respond to.  A bad play, considering now the hunters knew where you were, but what other choice was there!  You obviously needed some better medical attention and a ride out of there, and that was your quickest way to it.  
Unfortunately, the hunters were closer than (Dragon’s Name) was, as they began running to where the flare went off.  Time to run.  Again.   After a few excruciating minutes of running through woods, swatting away stray branches, and being pull of pure panic, you came upon a cliff.  Great.  
The hunters closed in on you, surrounding you, panicked as ever.  A few taunts were made, comments on ‘nowhere to go,’ ‘last leg,’ and more.  As you stepped back, a few cracks were heard as rock crumbled down.  Your hands clutched your side tighter, as you pivoted your head around, looking for any possible means of escape other than down.
Just as the front hunter raised his arrow for the final blow, (Dragon’s Name) flew to your rescue, setting the hunters ablaze.  Quickly, you grabbed onto his saddle and hoisted yourself up the best you could.  (Dragon’s Name) turned and bolted for the sky, booking it to Dragons’ Edge.
Hiccup had been out on a fly with Toothless for a few hours, mapping out ideal places for a nice anniversary date.  And just maybe looking for more dragon species.  When he returned, he couldn’t find you anywhere, and nobody had seen you for the last few hours.  Apparently, you disappeared just half an hour after he did.  Hiccup quickly connected the dots, and was now anxiously pacing back and forth in his hut.  He didn’t even know where to begin looking for you, nobody did.  So he would have to wait for you to show back up.  Pulling Hiccup out of his thought, (Dragon’s Name) called out as a flutter of wings and a thud sounded.  Immediately, he rushed to your side.  He helped you down, before turning to an angry rant about your safety.  
“Y/N.  Y/N!  Great Thor, why did you do that!  I have told you again and again about how I don’t like it when you go out on your own, and for this exact reason!  What was even so important that you couldn’t bother to tell Toothless or me, even Astrid for Thor’s sake!  I mean-” you abruptly cut him off, holding up a smooshed banquet of flowers, a lopsided smile across your lips.  “Is’ for our anniversary..” you mumumbed, face now planted in his collarbone.  He was silent for a second, before scooping you up bridal style and carrying you to the medical hut.  He places you back down gently and went to grab some antiseptic and painkiller herbs, recommended by Gothi, stitching supplies, and some fresh, thick bandages.  He ground up the painkillers, putting it into a cup of water, which you gratefully swallowed, cringing at the texture.  A few seconds later, he lifted you up slightly to peel of your shirt, as to have easy access to the wound.  You lay back down so the blood won’t flow to fast or freely, grunting as your head hit the pillow.
He applied the antiseptic, rubbing it on your wound, per Gothi’s instructions.  You hissed, hands painfully clutching the sheet.  Hiccup noticed, and gave you his free hand to clasp, which you gratefully did.  He continued the process until it wasn’t stinging anymore, a sign of majority of possible infections being gone.  He grabbed the needle, quickly placing a kiss to your hand and glancing at you apologetically.  He grabbed the needle, placing the thread through the loop, and then piercing your skin.  Your head thrashed against the pillow, and Hiccup began to rub reassuring circles into the palm of our hand until he was completely done.  
The only thing left to do was to bandage it to prevent further infection or bleeding.  He sat you up again, and instructed you to hold your hands up while he wrapped up the wound.  He quickly finished, bandages now covering your entire lower torso.  “Wanna head to bed, Y/N?  I know it’s early but I figure you need the rest.”  You nodded in responses, mumbling a small, “Carry me, Hic.”  He lightly smiled and picked you up, one hand under your butt and another supporting your waist.  Your arms wrapped around his neck, your head calmly stuffed in his shoulder as he walked back to his hut.  
In a few minutes, he carefully opened the door to his hut and walked in.  “Do you think you can make it up the ladder with my help?  Or should we just make a pile of blankets down here?” he asked, setting you down.  “Mm, let’s just go upstairs.  I need a proper bed right now, if ya’ don’t mind helping me up,” you responded with a small yawn at the end
“I would never mind helping you,” he spoke, a tad quieter, seeing as you were incredibly tired.  He picked you up again, and after a few confusing minutes, you both plopped onto the bed and pulled the covers over, heads peaking out.  Hiccup lifted his arms up, inviting you to nuzzle into him, which you gleefully did so.  You curled up into a little ball, head curved around his upper chest, and your arms extended to lightly brush through and play with his hair.  His arm was draped over top your side, rubbing reassuring circles into your back as he had soe your palm earlier.  You sighed contentedly.  A nice silence embraced the two of you, crickets chirping and the water rushing against the cliffside.  After a while, he quickly spoke.  “This is nice, isn't it, Y/N?” 
“Yeah, it is…Hey, I’m sorry I went out without telling you, or anyone.  I just wanted to get gifts for you and have them be a complete surprise.  Naturally, the dragon hunters just had to be there,” you stifled a chuckle after it made your wound pang. 
 “Your the single best gift ever, Y/N.  Nothing you buy or find can even come close to describing the love I have for you, though I do enjoy the flattery.”  Silence.  He looked down to see you, and heard the faintest of snoring, smiling lightly to himself.  He closed his eyes and melted further into your embrace, nothing else in the world mattering.
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mjanelupinblack · 4 months
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I don’t understand but I luv u (minghao x reader) PT1 ✨
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Summary:
Where you are eternally in love with Minghao but your friendship with Mingyu prevents you from doing anything to have him.
Where a deep hole pierces your heart and there’s no way to fill it except for the touch of another lonely soul.
Pairings: Minghao x Reader / Mingyu x Reader (for now, this will get messy)
I
"Was it so difficult to stay quiet?" Mingyu complains, having run out of paper balls to throw. He's annoyed because, if it weren't for Hansol's suggestion, they could have left school ten minutes ago.
Mingyu is right, at least for the rest of my classmates who yawn and stretch in their seats, their school supplies put away, eager to go home. For me, those ten lost minutes are a free ticket to dream without restraint. Mingyu realizes this when I nod absentmindedly in response to his comment, completely unaware of what he said, as I'm more focused on the pristine strands of Minghao's golden hair. In the sapphire streaks that peek out amidst his straight hair, like a cascade of freshly cut lupines, fresh and ready to be arranged into a bouquet.
Minghao fixes a mischievous strand of hair and sighs, reclining in his seat with crossed arms. He appears attentive to Hansol's contributions until a wet paper ball hits his neck, and my heart skips a beat as he touches the spot.
He turns to smile at Mingyu, who doesn't respond to his friendly gesture. From that moment on, the world never returns to its course.
II
Mingyu and Minghao are friends. Not as close as to laugh together until their stomachs hurt or as loyal as to offer to catch a bullet with their chests for each other, but they exchange a word or two when necessary. They met at the beginning of high school, long before I entered the school to disrupt the already established dynamics of that classroom. It's not necessary to look closely to realize that they are very different, like the front and back of a coin, designed with their own peculiarities and destined never to meet. The sun and the moon. Heat and coolness. Mingyu's skin is chocolaty and melts with the warmth of his temperament. I've never touched Minghao's skin, but I imagine it shares the color and qualities of porcelain, like grabbing a snowball in your hands and trying to melt it with your body heat, but the snow is colder and ends up freezing your skin. Perhaps that's why interacting with Mingyu flows so naturally, like water, while just the sight of Minghao makes my teeth chatter and sends me seeking refuge by the fire.
I like his ethereal aura, like a dragonfly impossible to catch because his soul is free, and the wind supports it. So, all that's left is to watch him fly. Watch him touch the sky. Watch when I leave the classroom to go to the bathroom and casually pass by the practice room. I see him stretch his body like a dancer from those fairy tales. He seems even more flexible than them. Because Minghao is not from this world, but the world could be his.
"Are you coming?" Mingyu asks while Hao engages in a heated conversation with Wonwoo about why Tottenham Hotspur doesn't need Harry Kane to win.
Mingyu knows the answer to his question.
"Are you still afraid to share space with Minghao?" he insists. "He's human. Flesh and bone. He doesn't bite, unless..."
He mocks me. He refuses to let go of my infatuation with Hao, so he makes jokes, falls silent when they're not funny, and eventually changes the subject to avoid poking at the wound. He teases me about the blush on my cheeks. It's intense, like two freshly picked apples from a tree. He also teases me about my racing heart and my limited ability to take it out of my chest and carry it like an accessory in my hand.
For him, using his heart on his sleeve is so easy.
III
Gyu shares a peach with me that had been waiting its turn in his backpack among all the fruits. Flavors burst in our stomachs, like two hungry fugitives who devour and can't do anything else. Both of us have juices running down the corners of our mouths; juices that we absorb with our tongues and wipe away with the back of our hands. We end up with sticky fingers. He cleans one hand on his pants and offers me his earbud with the other to start our Friday afternoon ritual. I don't particularly like the song he plays, but I refrain from making comments as I gaze at the vastness of the sky. Not a single cloud disturbs its majesty. Only the seagulls do, gliding far away from our bench.
My eyes are tired. And my mind even more so because, every time I close my eyes, they replay the stretched silhouette of Minghao, as if trying to touch the ceiling with the tips of his fingers. His form seems to be carved on my eyelids. Engraved in every nook and cranny, despite the darkness. This time, I don't close my eyes, but the image presents itself to me almost as involuntarily as when I replay it in my head. Maybe because he is there this time, in reality. And from his lips, my name slips out with a sweetness like that of the peach I just nibbled.
"Wonu told me we're neighbors," he spits out what I've been hiding so easily, as if counting on with his fingers. "I wanted to offer to walk you home. To make it safer."
"Ha! Safer?" Mingyu asks. "She's a black belt in Jiujitsu."
Minghao seems surprised. Behind the clear glass of his glasses, he opens his eyes wide, as if asking me if it's true. An admiration I always longed to receive and that hurts even more deeply when it comes from him.
How much more interesting would it be if that were true, if I had already achieved the black belt a long time ago. How much more interesting would it be if I soared through the air and stretched myself like a fairy made of plastic bones. If I did things faster, if I didn't mind taking my time. If his kind gaze didn't terrify me and if words flowed like a river when he stood in fronto of me like a mountain.
Yes, we're neighbors. Yes, I would love for you to accompany me, and no, I'm not a black belt in Jiujitsu, but I would like to be one in another, more interesting life.
"We'll walk together after class," Mingyu replies because I'm frozen. He peels a mandarin without paying more attention to the matter. He didn't expect a different outcome. "Thanks for the offer."
Hao says goodbye. My mouth closes in an empty smile, licks the air, loses all its meaning after Hao leaves, and Mingyu changes the song to a more melodious one.
He seems at peace. Mingyu is the solace of silence; someone who speaks for you when your tongue is tied. He is the sigh of relief after smelling a vanilla-scented candle when you thought your lungs couldn't stretch any further.
He feels comfortable.
And Minghao walks down the street without a drop of tranquility to ease my thirst.
IV
We head to the arcade; a playground for kids, a step into the casino for young adults. There are machines that make noise, scream, and cry with something akin to fun. Fun and joy go hand in hand, but I'm not sure they're the same thing. As we enter, we find Wonu sitting in a flight simulator. He shoots innocent civilians who will respawn as soon as he drops the game and start playing Just Dance.
"Yah! We told you to wait for us at the entrance," Mingyu complains, grabbing the monstrous headphones surrounding Wonwoo's head and shouting right into his ears.
"Yah!" Wonu imitates him. He tries to save the game, but the civilians escape like cockroaches and a tank breaks one of his airplane’s wings. "I waited at the entrance for twenty minutes!"
Wonu tries to be aggressive, but his shouts don't even tickle Mingyu's ears.
"Well, we arrived five minutes late!"
A woman looks at them as a librarian would. She asks for silence with a furrowed brow, even though they're in the palace of teenage chaos. In fact, that's the bait. With her disdainful humor, she makes Gyu look her in the eyes, his eyes wandering on the curves of her mature body. I wonder if I look equally exposed, equally filled with lust when I watch Minghao's slender body stretch. Or maybe I put on the same long face as Wonu, humiliated and disappointed when Gyu leaves us to talk to the stranger.
"It's just you and me," I say, trying to cheer him up. "How about Just Dance?"
"She could literally kidnap him."
"Maybe Mario Kart?"
"How old do you think she is? Do you even think they let her in here?"
"We can play bowling, basketball..."
He condemns me with a murderous look. One that was originally created for Mingyu, the guy who breaks his heart in every chance he gets. Wonu notices his terrible way of confusing emotions; of always directing them to the wrong people, and his gaze softens.
"I feel like punching a wall."
"Well then, Street Fighter it is!"
We never talk about Wonwoo's feelings. Not because we don't try, but because every time we think about it, a strange phenomenon occurs; his face tenses up as if he can feel our thoughts like a cold breeze. When emotions are too strong, it's better to keep them locked up. To refuse to open the Pandora's box unless the other person approaches, pulling their demons by the tail. Otherwise, they often reject the help and mistake it for condescension.
Stubborn. That's a word that fits both of them like a glove.
We go from Street Fighter to Just Dance. I let Wonu be aggressive in the first one, winning without soul. After all, he'll be too distracted to beat me in Just Dance, and if the tiebreaker game is about physical skill, my body will be more activated than his, with adrenaline still coursing through my veins.
As expected, I win. Much to my chagrin, the third game is not about physical but mental skill. The claw machine stands before me like a monster.
"The first one to get a plushie wins."
"I don't have money to play this."
"I'll pay, are you scared?"
In fact, I'm scared. Not scared of losing per se; what I fear are the emotions that torment me after each failure. I know Wonu fears the same thing. Maybe that's why we can compete against each other. Because the loser limits himself to buy the ice cream and the rest of the ride proceeds in silence. No jokes. No teasing or stirring what doesn't need to be touched.
"You go first."
Wonwoo almost wins on his first try. I try and try, but the teddy bear, the caterpillar, and the penguin slip away from the claw. Half an hour goes by without either of us getting close to winning.
"I need to go to the restroom," Wonwoo announces.
"Don't cheat!" I shout as he leaves.
"How can I cheat from there?!"
I try to take a break. Then I realize how difficult it is to soothe a hungry spirit. I try to find logical combinations, intelligent ways to cheat, but nothing works. I end up leaning against the plushie machine, watching Gyu from a safe distance; the woman he spent the last hour with looks much younger under the new light. Different from the initial stupor. My friend is helping her redirect the bowling ball towards the pins, but there seems to be much more behind that innocent gesture.
I imagine myself being held the same way; firmly, embraced by strong and affectionate arms. I get lost in a daydream where my friend laughs in my ear, tickling my neck with his breath. I would never dare to flirt with Mingyu, but my chest begins to feel bland. I think Gyu has spent enough time with this girl whom he will never see again once he gets bored. Two hours earlier, he had his fingers in my mouth, feeding me tangerine slices as if I were a little bird in need of care. She will find something better. But what do I have?
"You should align the hook with that puppy's ear," a calm voice says.
"That's what I'm trying to do," I reply. "Do you mean this one?"
Minghao shakes his head. He approaches and taps the glass three times.
"This one here."
I'm still wearing my school uniform, sweating the same sweat I've been dripping for hours. In contrast, Minghao wears tight-fitting pants that cling to his skin. His scent is so strong that I hope the particles find their way into my body and imprint it forever.
I speak before thinking, and I realize that's the only thing that allowed my voice to remain steady.
Next step, Hao inserts a coin. His hair falls loose over his ears. He manipulates the claw machine and it obeys him as if he was God himself. The claw drops, rests on the puppy's hairy ear, and rises again. His once empty hands now hand me the plushie.
"Thank you," I manage to respond. I appreciate my upbringing's politeness.
"It's nothing. I saw you both struggling to get it."
"Yes... We were having a little competition, actually."
"For the plushie?"
I have a feeling that it finally happened. It happened, and I responded with the wrong thing because going to an arcade and having a competition to win a plushie from the claw machine is such a childish thing to do when you're seventeen. I reply with a yes; it was a competition for the plushie, and I hug the puppy as if Minghao were about to snatch it from my hands. As if it were a test, and I had failed.
"Then you won."
"No, he'll know you got it."
"I'll leave right away. And I won't say anything to him."
God sets the rules. He determines what's right and wrong, what should be said, and what should remain hidden. Now, he's playing the Devil's game, taking the same things he said were wrong and making them right.
"Were you expecting someone?" I ask, aware of the gradual but sure crumbling of my morality.
My question seems to be the equivalent of his statement. It bothers him because no one dares to ask questions to a God who doesn't have time to give answers.
"My partner."
"A man?"
Hao nods.
"Actually, it's just my date."
He glances at his watch and makes a gesture indicating it's time to go. Before his departure, I can already see him disappear; become transparent and revealing that everything was a projection of my most cherished desire until then: to have a conversation with him.
But the plushie remains heavy in my arms. And it looks at me with the vital gaze of a living creature.
When Wonwoo arrives, I hand him the puppy.
"I won," it hurts to say that. It's a lie, and I think my friend notices it.
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jinxedruby · 2 months
Text
Ambush at the Bridge: Chapter Three
In which Warriors and Time show up. (Heads up for blood and injury in this chapter as well.)
AO3
First part | <- Previous part | Next part ->
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Warriors sliced through some of the bokoblins before him, sword tearing through three monsters of different kinds. He at least recognized the pinkish ones from Sky’s era, having fought them during his journey. But the purple ones with white, mop-like hair and the pig-like ones with large ears were unfamiliar to him. Why there were so many at once and why they were all ganging up on him, he didn’t know. He brought up his shield just in time to block a blow to the side of his head, at the same time keeping the monsters to his left at bay with his sword. A weapon glanced off the back of his chainmail, tearing through his tunic. He gripped his sword and spun in a vicious circle, clearing the immediate area around him. He barely took two steps before the monsters surged forward again, hemming him in once more.
A sharp yelp of pain caught his attention. He cut down the bokoblin before him to get a glimpse of the worn bridge. His eyes widened. Hyrule lay dangerously close to a hole in the bridge, desperately fighting to get a lizalfos and bokoblin off of him.
A cleaver slicing through the crook of his arm forced Warriors to tear his gaze from Hyrule. A quick thrust disposed of the bokoblin that had cut him but another took its place just as quickly. He scowled, parrying one attack and responding with a slash that killed three monsters at once. He barely got a glance at the bridge before more monsters swarmed into the gap he made. A hard blow to his back sent him stumbling forward, right into another monster’s attack. He barely managed to block it with his shield, extremely thankful he had chainmail to cover his blind spots. Another struggled shout from Hyrule. Warriors clutched his sword, adrenaline flaring.
“Out of my way!” he roared. He twisted to one side, readying his sword. Then he unleashed spin attack after spin attack, plowing through the bokoblins. His ears rang from the sheer number of monster screeches as bokoblins fell to his blade. He came to a stop, panting, head spinning a little from the overexertion. He turned, trying to get his bearings.
CRACK.
He whipped around just in time to see a section of the bridge collapse. The section Hyrule was on. He and the monsters on top of him plunged into the frothing river below.
“Traveler!” Warriors shouted. He dashed toward the bridge. Another wave of bokoblins stopped him in his tracks. He cursed, cutting through them as fast as he could, arms burning from the strain.
“I got him!” he heard Wind shout.
“Wait!” Twilight yelled.
Warriors couldn’t see what was happening past the monsters before him. No matter how many he cut down, more would pop up. Why were there so many? If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were in his era. What he wouldn’t give for Legend’s fire rod right then. But he didn’t know where the veteran was. He couldn’t tell where anyone was, with all these damn monsters in the way.
A blade cut through the back of his knee and he yelped. He spun and skewered the offending bokoblin, only for another to stab at him from behind. His chainmail prevented the blade from piercing him, but the force of the blow knocked him forward, a bruise surely developing where he’d been hit. A sword whistled toward his neck. He yanked up his shield, deflecting the weapon upwards, the tip of the blade grazing his scalp just above his ear. His skin prickled as warm blood flowed from the cut, matting his hair. He executed another spin attack, muscles protesting the whole way.
“Captain!”
Warriors turned at the shout to see Time on the other side of the swarm of monsters. The old man held a giant barrel over his head, teeth clenched.
“Heads up!” Time shouted. With a grunt, he chucked the barrel into the middle of the mass of monsters. It wasn’t until he heard hissing that Warriors realized what the old man had thrown. He spun away, cutting an opening in the bokoblins and diving forward, tucking into a roll. The barrel exploded with a deafening boom. A wave of heat blasted past Warriors, knocking him flat. Monsters sailed past him, smoking and not all in one piece. Warriors covered his head as weapons and smoldering bokoblin parts rained down around him. Once things settled, Warriors scrambled to his feet, whirling around to pick off any stragglers. A blur of silver and gold flashed on his right as Time fell into step beside him, cutting down the bokoblins in his blind spot. With one final slash, Warriors cut down the last remaining monster. He turned, sword raised, searching for any he might’ve missed. After a long moment he sighed, letting the tip of his sword fall to the ground. He turned to Time, skin tingling with the dregs of adrenaline left in his system.
“Thanks for the save, old man,” he said. “That was one hell of a bomb.”
A hint of a smile flickered across Time’s stoic expression. “Goron powder keg,” he explained as he wiped the black blood from his sword. “I’ve been saving it for a time such as this.”
Warriors huffed a laugh, glancing at the carnage littered around them. “Well, it sure did the job.” Then his eyes widened. “Traveler. He fell in the river-“ He started forward but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Our sailor and rancher have already gone after him,” Time said.
Warriors shrugged off Time’s hand, ignoring the flinch of pain the motion caused. “Well, we should still go after them. Or find the others. They might need help-“
“You’re hurt,” Time interrupted.
“What? No, I’m fine-“
“Captain.” Time leveled him with a glare usually reserved for the more reckless members of the group. Warriors stared at him for a moment longer, a protest on his tongue. Then the last of his adrenaline burned away. Cuts he didn’t know he had flared up in pain. His muscles ached fiercely, limbs trembling from the exertion of the battle. The side of his head prickled and he reached up to find blood soaking his hair and trailing down his neck. He hadn’t realized how deep the cut above his ear was.
“Ah,” he managed. His knees failed him at that moment and he stumbled. Time quickly caught him, gently lowering him to the ground.
“Easy, Captain,” the old man said, kneeling beside Warriors. Warriors took a deep breath, reaching into his bag for a bandage. His hands shook and he narrowed his eyes, as if glaring would ease the trembling. There was pressure against the side of his head and he winced. He looked up to see Time carefully wrapping gauze around his head, stemming the flow of blood from his wound. Warriors reached up to take the gauze from Time, but the old man just shook his head. Warriors lowered his hand with a sigh.
“Thanks,” he said as Time finished wrapping his head. He glanced around as Time reached into his bag for more bandages. Aside from the sound of the rushing river, the woods sat quiet and still. “Did you see where the others went?”
Time glanced up from the wound in the crook of Warriors’ arm he was wrapping. “The sailor and rancher went downriver after the traveler. Champion went flying into the woods over that way.” He jerked his head in the direction of the trees to their right. “I didn’t see what happened to the other three.”
Warriors arched a brow. “What do you mean, Champion went flying?”
Time sighed with exasperation that said ‘these boys are making me go gray.’ “He used his shield to catapult off a bokoblin’s head.”
“Wh- how?” Warriors spluttered, laughing.
Time heaved another sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Well-“ Warriors coughed in an attempt to reign in his chuckling. “-we should probably go after him, make sure he’s alright. I’m worried about Traveler, but Sailor and Rancher are both helping him.” He bit his lip to keep himself from tacking on ‘I hope.’
Time nodded. Warriors moved to stand but Time grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.
“Your wounds, Captain,” Time reminded him.
“They’re really not that bad, old man,” Warriors protested.
“Maybe not.” Time withdrew another bandage and began wrapping it around Warriors’ knee. “But I don’t want you losing any more blood.”
Warriors sighed but didn’t argue any further. He knew the old man was right, he just hated the idea of taking time to tend to himself when the others might need help right now.
“You won’t be much help if you’re stumbling around from preventable blood loss,” Time said, as if reading Warriors’ thoughts. At the captain’s stare, he looked up with a half-smile. “Heroes’ minds think alike.”
Warriors huffed a laugh. “You got me.”
It only took a couple more minutes for Time to finish dressing the worst of Warriors’ wounds. The cut in the crook of his arm was the deepest and responsible for the tremble in his hand. The large bruise on his back protested as he stood, chainmail rubbing uncomfortably against it. Time glanced at him when he winced but Warriors just flapped a hand.
“I’ve had worse,” he said. Then at Time’s look, added, “I won’t do anything I can’t handle. I’ll tell you if it gets worse.”
Time watched him for a moment longer before nodding and turning away. “I’ll hold you to that.”
They started in the direction Time had seen Wild go. Slowly at first, as Warriors had underestimated the pain from the cut in the back of his knee. Pain rippled through his skin with each step, and he did his best not to limp too heavily. Time offered him an arm for support but Warriors shook his head.
“I’m not so fragile, old man,” he said. To his surprise, Time actually chuckled.
“No, you’re not.”
Warriors blinked. He opened his mouth to rib the old man about giving him what sounded suspiciously like a compliment. A gut-wrenching scream cut him off. His eyes widened. Without a word, he and Time broke into a sprint. Warriors ignored the spikes of pain driving into his knee with each pound of his boot on the ground. The scream sounded dangerously like Wild. They ran blindly through the forest, tearing through the underbrush. Warriors looked around wildly, searching for any sign of the champion. Another strangled cry came from somewhere to their left, much closer and much weaker than the last one.
“Sorry, I’m sorry!” Another voice carried between the trees as Warriors and Time changed direction. “I have to stop the bleeding, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.”
Warriors recognized Four’s faint voice. He slowed and turned, Time slowing with him, trying to pinpoint where his voice had come from. He cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Smithy!” he shouted, words swallowed by the trees. “Where are you?”
“Over here!” Four screamed, desperation thick in his voice.
Warriors took off in the direction of Four’s voice, Time close behind him. He spotted a blotch of colors between the trees and sped up, a new wave of adrenaline muting the pain from his wounds. Four spotted them crashing through the underbrush, his eyes wide in panic. He knelt over Wild who lay on the ground, hardly moving.
“Help!” Four yelled. “Captain, over here!”
Warriors and Time sprinted over, the sight becoming clearer as they approached. Four’s nose twisted in a way it probably shouldn’t, dried blood coating his upper lip and chin. He held his hands tight against the area between Wild’s left shoulder and chest. Blood soaked his hands, the fluid pooling around his fingers. Warriors fell to his knees beside them, yanking a wad of bandages from his bag.
“Move your hands,” he instructed. Four pulled back to reveal a horribly deep stab wound. The moment the pressure left, blood spurted from the wound in force. Warriors cursed and stuffed the bandages into the wound before pressing down with his hands. Four put his hands back as well and Wild whimpered, head rolling to the side. The movement caused the blood pooling in his collar to run down his neck, soaking into his hair splayed out on the ground beneath him. Warriors pressed all his weight into Wild’s wound, the flow of blood only barely slowing. Time knelt beside them, brushing Wild’s bangs from his face, strands sticking to his skin. Wild’s eyelids fluttered open, clouded blue eyes darting around with little recognition.
“I’ll find a fairy,” Time said before jumping to his feet and charging into the forest.
Wild’s breath came in short, shallow gasps. All color had drained from his face, lips white. Sweat beaded on his brow, trailing down his temple and mixing with the blood on his neck. Warriors had seen wounds like this before. In soldiers whose limbs had been severed or cut so deeply that the artery broke. He’d watched men die within seconds that bled like this.
“Smith, do you have any bandages?” Warriors asked, forcing his focus on the present.
“A- a few,” Four stammered, face pale.
“Whatever you have, put it in his wound.”
Four reached into his bag and Warriors doubled the pressure he put on the wound, desperately trying to keep as much blood from escaping as he could. Four held out a small roll of gauze and Warriors snatched it, packing it in beside the other soaked bandages. He and Four replaced their hands and Warriors glanced around, searching frantically for Time. Fingers grasping at his hand brought his gaze back down. Wild clawed weakly at him, hand closing around Warriors’ wrist and limply hanging on.
“Stay with me, Champion, c’mon,” Warriors said, voice pinched with what he refused to admit was fear. Wild’s grip on him loosened, breaths shortening even more. “The old man’s on his way, just hold on, please.” He frantically looked around, hoping for any sign of the silver and gold armor but there was nothing except trees swaying gently in the breeze.
“Captain.”
Warriors looked toward Four at the smith’s raspy voice. The little hero stared down at Wild, face white. Warriors looked down. Wild’s chest spasmed as he struggled to breathe. His movements slowed and his hand slipped from Warriors’ wrist, sliding off himself and to the ground.
“No,” Warriors breathed. His hands clenched around the bandages in Wild’s wound. The kid didn’t even flinch. He’s just unconscious, he told himself. He just passed out from blood loss, that’s all. He’s… he’s not… Wild lay horribly still. His face relaxed, still terribly white. Warriors pressed against the wound even harder, muscles cramping. Blood still flowed from it, which meant Wild’s heart was still beating. Even if the flow was slowing. Even if his chest barely moved with breath. Even if the involuntary twitches of pain had stopped. Even if… even if…
“I found one!”
Warriors’ head snapped up. Time crashed through the underbrush, twigs and leaves stuck in the joints of his armor. He burst into the clearing and ran faster than Warriors had ever seen him move. A pinkish light zipped after him, darting past him once Wild was in view. Warriors couldn’t breathe as they approached. Couldn’t breathe as the fairy landed on the back of his hand, glowing more fiercely as it pushed magic into Wild’s wound. He felt a hand on his shoulder, Time’s low, rumbling voice thrumming in his ears. You can move your hands, Captain entered his brain but he shook his head, staring at the fairy. Four hadn’t moved either, eyes flitting between the fairy and Wild’s face. Something pressed back against Warriors’ palms. The fairy hopped up and down on his hand and he blinked confusedly. Hands closed around his wrists.
“Captain, move your hands,” Time said, firmly pulling his wrists away. Warriors fought against him instinctively before realizing what was happening. The gauze and bandages he had stuffed into the wound began pushing up out of it as the fairy knitted the flesh back together. He sat back and could nothing but stare as the fairy moved from his hand to hovering above Wild’s wound, flying in quick circles above it. The bandages pushed out further and Four quickly swept them away as the fairy worked. Warriors stared. Did it always take this long? It felt so much faster when he was on the other side, when he was the one being healed by a fairy. He stared as the fairy zipped around Wild’s chest. Some of the blood flooding his collar began trickling back into the wound. Droplets raced back along his neck, leaving red tracks on his skin. The fairy slowed and came to a stop on Wild’s shoulder. It paused as if inspecting its work before darting over to Time. He held out a hand, the other still holding one of Warriors’ wrists, and the fairy landed on his finger, whispering something Warriors didn’t understand. Numbly, instinctively, Warriors reached out and placed two fingers on Wild’s neck. His skin was far too cold, clammy with sweat and coagulated blood. Then he felt it. A weak pulse against his fingertips. He laughed, weak and breathy. Four gasped, snatching up one of Wild’s hands in his own and watching the champion’s face.
Time sighed in relief, head drooping. “Thank you,” he breathed to the fairy. The fairy made a sound like a quiet chime. It flew in a quick circle around Time before flitting away into the forest.
“Cook?” Four said, rubbing Wild’s hand between both of his own. When Wild didn’t respond, Four’s movements became more frantic, leaning closer. “Come on, Cook, please.”
“The fairy said she tried to give him back as much blood as she could,” Time said, placing the back of his hand against Wild’s pale cheek. “So much of it soaked into his clothes and the ground, though. He… he’s lost a lot.”
Four took a shaky breath, continuing to rub Wild’s hand. Warriors had no idea why and he suspected Four didn’t either. Warriors gently felt at where the wound had been. All that was left was a shallow cut in the flesh, shaped like a thin diamond. A sword, then. He glanced around. There were no monsters or weapons lying around aside from Wild’s sword laying in the grass beside him. Black blood decorated the tip and Warriors’ eyes narrowed. He looked to Four, opening his mouth to ask what happened.
Wild’s groan interrupted him.
Warriors’ gaze snapped to Wild, question forgotten. The champion stirred weakly, head rolling from side to side. He seemed to register Time’s hand on his face and turned his head into the touch, eyelids fluttering. His blue eyes blinked open, gaze sliding around before loosely landing on Time. He opened his mouth but all that came out was a weak croak with a hint of words. Then his eyes started to slide shut again.
“Champion!” Warriors called as Time and Four also exclaimed. Wild blinked slowly, meeting Warriors’ gaze. “Cough, I need you to cough.”
Wild squinted in confusion but complied, weakly coughing. Warriors gently encouraged him as he did, rubbing the kid’s arm. The coughing grew stronger and Wild opened his eyes wider, growing more alert. He took a shuddering breath and got a better look at the three heroes surrounding him.
“Champion, can you hear us?” Time asked, leaning into Wild’s field of view.
Wild slowly nodded, eyes darting over Time’s form. Then he looked to the side, gaze landing on Four.
“Sm… smith,” he croaked, voice crackling. “Are you o… di’ you… is ‘e…”
“It’s okay, he’s gone,” Four said as Wild struggled to string together a sentence. “Everything’s fine.”
Warriors glanced at Four, trying to catch his eye. Four glanced up and shook his head slightly. Later, he mouthed.
Wild suddenly tried to sit up, groaning.
“Easy there, Champion,” Warriors said, he and the others all reaching out to support Wild. “You lost a lot of blood, be careful.” Wild nodded clumsily, blindly reaching out and grasping onto the first thing he felt which happened to be Warriors’ scarf. Warriors could feel the champion’s hand shaking as he struggled to get a grip on the blue fabric and pull himself all the way up. Time placed a hand in the center of Wild’s back, gently pushing until he was seated upright. Wild took several deep, shuddering breaths before promptly tipping over. Warriors caught him as Wild collapsed against him, eyes squeezed shut.
“Why’m I… s’ dizzy?” Wild murmured, words slurring together.
“You lost a lot of blood, kid,” Warriors told him again.
“Did I…? Oh… yeah, th’ rancher… st…”
Warriors went stiff at Wild’s words. The rancher? Was Wild going to say that Twilight did this?
“Shapeshifter,” Four said quickly upon seeing the expressions on Warriors’ and Time’s faces. Warriors’ gaze snapped up to Four but the smith didn’t elaborate, watching Wild with a pinched expression and continuing to hold his hand. Warriors’ thoughts spun. A shapeshifter? One that looked like the rancher had attacked Wild and nearly killed him? Warriors needed the full story, but a glance at Four and Wild told him it was going to have to wait.
“I don’t want to rush things,” Time began. “But we should move. We need to find the others so we can regroup and get somewhere safe.”
Warriors nodded and carefully shifted Wild into a comfortable hold. “I’ll carry him. Should we head back to the bridge?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Time said. “Hopefully the others have had the same thought.”
Warriors began to stand, Wild’s form gathered in his arms. But in the chaos, he’d forgotten he was injured. His wounded leg trembled and he bit his lip, trying to force through it. Then Time was there, gently taking Wild from his arms.
“I’ve got him,” he said gently. Warriors felt like he should argue, but something about how small Wild looked in the old man’s arms stopped him. So he simply nodded as Four helped him to his feet. He thought Wild had fallen asleep until the champion grasped at one of Time’s hands, looking around blearily. Time ducked his head and said something in a low voice. Wild nodded after a moment, settling back in his arms, head resting against Time’s chest. Four retrieved Wild’s sword and the three began making their way through the forest, heading roughly in the direction Time and Warriors had come from. Time led the way, Warriors and Four close behind him. Warriors cast a glance at Four, eyeing the way his nose twisted and how the purplish-black bruise enveloped the smith’s nose and stretched out beneath his eyes.
“I can straighten your nose once we get back,” Warriors told him.
Four shot him a grateful look. “I’d appreciate that,” he said. He stumbled suddenly, Warriors darting forward to steady him.
“Smithy!” Warriors exclaimed as Four righted himself, using Warriors’ arm as support. Time glanced back over his shoulder at them, concern filling his eye. “Not hiding an injury from us, are you?” Warriors asked.
“No, I’m alright,” Four said, pushing away from Warriors. “Just exhausted. My limbs feel like the cook’s egg pudding.”
Warriors chuckled at that, some of the tension in the air lifting. “I can carry you, if you want,” he said, only half joking.
Four snorted, shoving him playfully. “I can still walk, Captain.”
“Only a suggestion!” Warriors replied, holding up his hands in a harmless gesture.
Four smirked. “Maybe I ought to carry you, given your limp of drama.”
“Hurt! Ful!”
The two laughed, continuing to rib each other as they followed Time back to the bridge.
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brewsterispunkk · 3 months
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diamonds and stones: prologue
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pairing: clyde logan x reader
summary: the beginning of it all
warnings: brief mentions of domestic violence
a/n: im dedicating this one to @acrossthesestars :) they offered so much encouragement and support the first time i tried to get this fic off the ground 2 years ago. after some reworking and new inspiration, im trying again !
series masterlist
prologue:
You had been obsessed with Greek mythology when you were young. 
Maybe it was the timelessness of it all, the beauty, love, tragedy. The might of the gods like Zues and Poesidon, the fierceness of Athena’s wit, the firm unforgiving curve of Hera’s brow. The constellations in the deep, inky sky called out to you.
You learned to read them, pick them out in each season. Orion and his bow, Sirius, wagging his tail at you from millions of lightyears away. You liked to talk to them sometimes, when it got tough at home. When the yelling came to be too much. You’d hole up in some corner with a book reading, or you’d look out your window and wonder. Speak to the dark and wonder if maybe they could hear you.
They had endured tragedy too, after all. And though a stepfather that hit you wasn’t a nine-headed beast or a minotaur, it might as well have been. You wondered what it would be like to walk among them; in the time of the Gods. To witness Persephone tumbling forth to the underworld as the world opened up from under her, to see Hera’s rage and wrath and pain firsthand, to feel Poseidon's breeze as Aphrodite was born of the sea-foam. 
You loved them; the myths. And the fiction that followed them, books inspired by stories thought up millennia ago.
But one goddess always confused you. You always avoided her stories; the fiery goddess of warmth, of belonging. It hurt too much. The deity that controlled the two most powerful things that you could never touch; fire--the piercing, blazing, sting of it all. Beautiful to look at and just out of reach. Enchanting candles and bonfires you could never touch, lest you become another Icarus, and melt away from the heat of it. Fire, the thing only the gods could touch. And the other: Home.
Home, the word felt foreign on your tongue, bitter.
The goddess of belonging, the deity of home. Hestia smiled at you from every page she appeared on, lips curving into a wicked smirk, holding something over your head you knew you could never achieve. Never possess, never grasp. 
 It was said that Aphrodite was the goddess of love, that you knew. But it was something you didn’t believe; to you, Aphrodite was the goddess of passion. Of deep, rushing urges, flighty decisions. She was the goddess your mother's tumultuous relationship was born of. And though what she and your stepfather had was piercing and painful, there was no love to be found there. That you were sure of.
No, in your mind Hestia was the goddess of true love, not just the shallow illusion of it. Warmth, stability, belonging: these were all characteristics of love itself. Something you’d never known.
Your mother loved you; That much you knew to be true, but it was a tragic type of love. The type the poets and romantics wrote about. Your mother was Ophelia, sinking into the deep. She was Juliet with a dagger piercing her heart. She was Cordelia, dying of a heart broken by betrayal. A love from Aphrodite had made her like this. She had been all but ruined by your father, as you saw it. She loved you, fiercely, but as though she was trying to provide enough for a mother and a father.
She tore herself apart trying to conceal what was truly happening from you; the bruises, the broken glass, the old jeep missing from the drive-way. And when he did take it out on you, she tore herself apart trying to put you back together. And that was tragic. More tragic than the fates of Orpheus and Eurydice. More tragic than the birth of Dionysus. More than Echo’s love for Narcissus. 
And so the goddess of the hearth and home taunted you.
Appalachia was a beautiful place to grow up, but for a little girl living in her own head, it could get lonely too. The mountains and foothills of the blue ridges lived in your soul; That much you knew. They spoke to you, told you stories, kept you company where there was none.
Your family had made home here for generations. You were as much a part of the land as it was a part of you. Like the West Virginia license plate said, you grew up the same way: “Wild and Wonderful.” Barefoot and wild, a true daughter of the mountains.
Where there wasn’t a father, there were the wildflowers. When your mother would shut down, go quiet and for once stop pretending that everything was alright, there was the oak tree with a tire swing. Through the fights and the screaming and the slamming, there was always this. The land. The grass beneath your feet, the wind in your hair, and the mountains above your eyes. And when it was too hot to be outside, your books were always there to welcome you back to the fold; to provide escape. 
So, though your life wasn’t perfect by any means, you’d always remember your Gramma’s words. She lived miles away--to the east, in Boone County, a place you’d visited only as an infant--but she made the hours-long journey whenever your mother needed her, which was often. When she’d catch you sulking about something trivial, like a lost card game or not being allowed to have sweets before supper, she’d arch an eyebrow at you, hand on her hip and say:
“Watch your spite. Whatever attitude you put out into this world is what you gon’ get back.” 
This, you’d think. I can be content with this. And the West Virginia wind was always there to answer you with its gentle swaying, older than the trees.
-
The first thing your mind registered on the day that you ran was the cold hand on your shoulder as you bolted awake, gasping.
It was still dark outside, the sun hadn’t even begun to peek over the horizon beyond the trailer that you’d only called home for a few weeks now. Your room was bathed in darkness, and your eyes adjusted, only being able to make out the rough shapes of the objects in your room. 
You opened your mouth to scream, too scared to look beside you at who had grabbed you. You’d heard some girls in your class talking about a girl getting kidnapped only two weeks ago one county over. When her hand closed over your mouth to stop you, you visibly relaxed. You could smell the lemon perfume still splashed across her wrist, faint after what must have been a long shift at the diner. Mommy.
“Shh, shh,” She soothed, her other hand stroking your pajama-clad back, “it’s me, sweetie, it’s mama. It’s just me.”
Your little fists rubbed your eyes groggily, taking in your surroundings. You brushed your crazy bed head away from your eyes. It was dark, and the digital mermaid clock on your nightstand read 3:32 am. At the foot of your bed, there were two suitcases; ones you’d only seen when Kieth, your mom’s boyfriend, had gone away for work trips. You’d looked forward to those times; It was when the house was calmest, when you were allowed to have the windows open (Kieth didn’t like it when you’d leave the windows open; it meant people could “see too much”). Your mom would put on her old Fleetwood Mac records and tell you stories about your daddy--How they met and how they found out they were pregnant with you. 
You weren’t allowed to talk about your daddy when Kieth was home. He didn’t like it and he’d get that mean look on his face.The kind that made your mom freeze. You were scared of Kieth. Which was why you didn’t know what his suitcase was doing here instead of tucked away where it belonged. He’d be angry about that, and everyone knew what happened when he got angry.
Your mom smoothed your hair behind your ears, whispering with careful purpose, “Time to get up, sweetie. It’s time to go.”
You furrowed your eyebrows. Go? Go where? It was still nighttime, as far as your seven-year-old brain could tell, and you were tired. 
Swallowing a yawn you began, “Mommy--”
“Shh!” She whisper-yelled, hand coming over your mouth once again. In her eyes was a look you’d never seen before. Your mom was scared. Your eyes widened, not fully understanding what was going on, but understanding that something was going on, and whatever it was, it was bad. She inhaled through her nose and through her mouth, slowly lowering her hand.
“I’m gonna explain the best I can, sweetie, but you’re gonna have to be real, real quiet, ok? We gotta hurry.”
You frantically nodded, eyes drawn together in what could’ve only looked like complete terror. 
“You and I are leavin’, lovebug. I got all we need here,” she patted the suitcase, “and in the car. We’re goin’.” She explained, looking over her shoulder at the cracked door. You could hear Kieth’s loud snoring from the other room.
“Like on vacation?” You asked in a tiny voice, confused. You’d never been on vacation before; Not a real one anyway. Only weekend trips to Atlantic City with your cousins every now and then. Your mom closed her eyes for a moment before shaking her head.
“No. Not like vacation,” she sighed, reaching up to grab your cheek. “I’m sorry honey, really I am. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize we have to go. But we do.”
You wouldn’t know what she was referring to until years later, not really grasping what she was saying in a half-awake, eight-year-old brain. Years later, you’d realize she was referring to Kieth: how sorry she was that it had taken this long for her to leave him. Still, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, you nodded at her. You hadn’t realized she was crying until she reached up to wipe under her eyes, sniffling. 
She hugged you then, tight. Tighter than you think she’d ever held you before. In that moment, you’d thought that it was more for her than you. You hugged her back. 
She sighed, “c’mon, baby. Get your shoes on.”
“Where are we gonna go, mama?” 
“Gramma’s, honey. She’s got a room all ready for us.” By now she was busying herself with getting your pink tennis shoes on your feet. Standing up, you let her pull your sweatshirt over your arms. 
She looked younger like this, you thought. Like a Princess, here in the moonlight under the cover of nighttime. Here the darkness hid the dark circles and worry lines that made her look older than she actually was. She grabbed your hands.
“Okay, now we’ve gotta walk really quietly, honey. You’re gonna have to put your feet where mine were, do you think you can do that?”
You nodded, peeking around the door, half expecting Kieth to be standing there, hand raised. You silently thanked whatever god was out there that Kieth had never let you get a dog—you didn’t know if you’d have been able to take it with you. 
With careful, slow steps you creeped down the dark hallway, dodging the floorboards you knew to be creaky. 
After ten minutes of careful precision—well, as much precision as a half-asleep ten-year-old can have—you made it to the old pick-up that had belonged to your father. The gravel crunching beneath her feet, your mother lifted you up into the back seat. After jumping into the front seat herself, she took a deep shuddering breath before slowly turning the ignition, eyes squeezed shut. The gear moved into drive, and head leaned against the window, you slept soundly, without fear, for the first time in years. 
By the time you woke up, it was almost five o’clock. The sun was slowly beginning to show its rays, the sky fading from a deep indigo into a light yellow. You looked out the windows at the mountains, thankful that at least one thing felt familiar. The blue ridges always did. 
Your mother turned back, smiling at you. A real smile. It made your heart stutter a bit. 
Maybe Hestia hasn’t abandoned me, you thought, thinking back to the days when you’d curse the name of the goddess of fire. Back when you actually believed in the goddess of fire. 
“Well look who decided to wake up,” your mother smiled, her eyes crinkling. You stifled a yawn, stretching. 
“What’s going on?” You asked apprehensively. “Why did we just leave like that? Mama, when we get back he’s gonna be—“
“We aren’t going back.” 
You blanked. Not going back? What? The amount of times you’d wished for this exact scenario were too many to count. You should be happy. But what would you do? Would you live with grandma? Where were your things? You only packed one suitcase and your friend Emma had borrowed your Mulan TShirt—oh and school! Where would you go to school—
Your mother said your name. Your eyes snapped to hers in the rear view.
“It’s gonna be okay. I've got a plan, we’ll be fine.”
She paused and you turned to look at the trees passing by. She sighed before speaking again, “okay?”
“Okay.” 
“Good. Oh look!” She gasped, pointing to her right, at a bright green sign. 
Now Entering Boone County
“We’re here!” She sighed. “I haven’t been back here since your daddy…” She trailed off, but you knew what she meant. She hadn’t been back here since your daddy had died. Keith wouldn’t let her. 
Gazing out of the window at the moving trees, you only thought of what lie ahead. You’d moved enough times in your life, first for your dad’s military postings, and then because Kieth never liked to stay in one place for too long. This wasn’t new, but something about it felt that way. You’d like to stay in one place for a while after this one, you thought. As you watched the hills and farms and houses, the sun began to rise, coloring it all gold. You could get used to this. 
As you entered the town, you felt it in your chest: this was going to be home. You were sure of it. 
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t4nkw01f · 2 years
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I’m all for the hype about a video of Darlin meeting the Solaire Vamps, but I raise this. They met during the inversion.
We know that makers and progeny can feel each other’s emotions to an extent. I doubt that the wards could stop that connection, meaning William, Alexis, and Fred all felt Sam and Vincent’s panic when the shades appeared.
They all arrived at the stadium quickly, (Bright coming along too ofc) only to have to wait outside the wards. Once they fell they went searching through the crowd for their family. They find Sam in the chaos, just as they are about to zip over there. They catch sight of a giant wolf bounding towards him, only to shift back into a human last second to nearly tackle Sam into a bone-crushing hug, he returns it with just as much energy. The spectating vampires are caught by surprise as the two separate only for a split second before passionately kissing one another while holding each other as close as possible. This is the wolf Sam comes back smelling like? Fred is worried, but still happy for Sam nonetheless. Bright is surprised and confused. William is glad he’s okay and has someone to take care of him when he neglects himself in favor of others. Alexis stares at the exchange. Envy reigns supreme in her mind, not leaving much space for relief that Sam’s even alive. She watches as her progeny, and object of her immortal affections is held by someone else. She watches as the wolf clamps their arms around Sam as if to protect him from a threat that’s already passed, like the world nearly ended, and based on the way they held him so desperately. If anything were to have happened to him, it would have. It makes her blood boil. Eventually the two separate, the shifter pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Sam’s head. They look around and Sam catches sight of them. Bright and Fred run to him first, followed by William. Alexis hesitates, then follows.
Tank doesn’t miss the way Sam’s shoulders go tense under their fingertips as another vamp appears next to William. Her hair lays perfect even in the midst of a tragedy, her silver eyes didn’t look like Sam’s, or William’s. Their eyes are warm and kind. Her eyes are sharp and cynical. They can only assume this is Alexis, their grip on his shoulders tightens and they pull him closer. They weren’t there to protect him in the wards, but they’ll be damned if they let something happen to him now. Even if the thing they are shielding him from is his own maker and the first blood of a vampire king. They’d do it for him, they’d do anything for him. They would give him every star in the sky if he asked.
William stands in front of Sam as he briefly covers what happened, leaving out exactly what happened with Vincent and his partner. That’s for him to say. Once he finishes, William turns his attention to the shifter standing at Sam’s side. Said vamp notices William’s attention on the wolf, stiffening a bit. William extends his hand to the shifter, and they shake it firmly.
“I’m William Solaire, though you probably figured that out by now.” The wolf nods,
“Tank.” William quirks a brow at the name, a nickname he guesses. He feels a tug of envy in his chest; right where Alexis and her feelings lie. Looking over to his progeny he catches her staring at Tank, silver eyes piercing holes in them. They pay her no mind, they are too focused on Sam. This only seems to aggravate her more. Fred and Bright stand close to Sam but pointedly far away from the wolf shifter at his other side. He doesn’t blame them. The scars covering their body give them quite the image. They are young vampires, Tank must intimidate them, even if Bright’s trying to put on a brave face for Fred. It’s not just their appearance either; Their aura itself was on fire. The energy surrounding them was feral and wild, yet they were in perfect control of that chaos. Despite what he assumed many others would say before getting to know them, he thought that Sam had found a wonderful partner. He could practically feel the fierce loyalty they felt for Sam radiating off of them in waves. Their strength would always be used for him, never against him. Yes, Sam was in good hands with this wolf.
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