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97keanu · 6 months

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Premise: Part two of Vanquish: A Keanuverse Story. Reader chooses to be the slayer she was always meant to be. Helen has laid dormant in your soul for most of your life, awakening in the past few nights after coming in contact with her true love, John Wick again. Reader decides she must find out what it truly means to just be herself. With the help of some friends, any monster is possible to slay.

Tags: major character death(s). Vampire!John Wick, Slayer!Constantine, Witch!Neo, ???!Ted, supernatural AU, Slayer!Reader, soul connection, reincarnation, blood/violence.

A/N: In this choice, reader finds what she was looking for.

Go back.

"I am a Slayer, after all..." You say to Neo, and you feel the something that stirs with in you settle in such a way that you wonder if this is what she's always wanted.

"Are you sure? Once I begin the ritual, I can't undo it." You nod, and Neo sighs, grabbing the spare cigarette behind his ear and lighting it.

The end burns red and he breathes a long pull out.

"Alright, let's begin." He opens his spell book and starts.

You lay in the center of the summoning circle Neo has drawn in white chalk on his concrete floor. It's cold, dirt and grit touch you wherever your skin makes contact with the floor. Your head sits uncomfortably on the hardness of it, and you wish Neo would hurry up.

He's currently annoiting sigils he's drawn, then coming to you and sprinkling herbs and oils around you. You look up at him with wonder and urgency.

"How long is this going to take, Neo?" You whisper, already an hour into this mess and impatient.

"I'm seperating your soul connection to Helen, it's not a simple spell." He says with an eye roll.

You sigh and try to get comfortable, then Neo advises you to stop moving because you're rubbing around the chalk. You just hope this fixes things.

"Alright, were ready to begin." Neo says after another half hour, lighting the last candle that surrounds you.

"What do I need to do?" You ask, unsure of how much work you'll be doing.

"I need you to focus on staying yourself. Which parts of you are truly you, and which parts of Helen you're seperating from." Neo speaks as he looks over a small tome, from which he grabbed the spell from.

"Okay, but how do I know that?" You aren't trying to make this harder, but you also have lived your life as you are for so long. You have no idea how much of you is Helen manifested and how much is truly you.

"You'll have to look inward for that, I'm sorry I don't know an exact answer." He says, and you believe he is truly sorry you're in such a situation. He leans down and takes your hand tenderly.

"You're going to make it through this, one way or another." You nod at his words and you don't know why, but your eyes prickle, tears threatening to fall.

You can't imagine how it will feel to loose such a big part of yourself, it scares you to think who you might be after.

You nod once more, to let Neo know it's time to start, and he gives your hand one final squeeze. You really wish Constantine were here, but you know he wouldn't want you to do something so dangerous. Neo already told you the things that could go wrong if the spell isn't done correctly, and you know if Constantine knew you were planning on doing something that could make you a shell of yourself, he wouldn't allow it.

No, you have to do this alone. You're glad Neo is there to guide you as much as he can, and you suddenly realize how good it is to have such a friend.

He begins to speak, his words in a foreign tongue, and your eyes close. You can feel the energy begin to pulse, and any inklings of doubt you had about Neo being able to perform such a spell vanish. You know, this is it.

Neo takes a lock of your hair he cut earlier, and burns it, dropping it in a bowl filled with other herbs. It burns and the room begins to stink, but you can feel the power growing. You feel a weigh in your chest, and it builds, as if trying to escape your ribcage. You grit your teeth, and try to stay focused on becoming just yourself again. You still have no idea who that is, but you start to think of Constantine once more and the entity inside you pulls again.

You think about all the times you've tried to make something happen between you too, but no matter what something was stopping you. And you realize that Helen never stopped loving John, there was no way you were ever going to love someone else when she was inside you. You think of all the ways Constantine makes you feel, and you realize that those feelings of love for him, are your true feelings, the kind only you can make.

You think of when you two first met, and how nervous you were around him, but still giggling like a school girl despite yourself. You think of all the times you've leaned into him, and how the something that stops you was never happy about it. Constantine and you have always been an almost, a could be, a wish that hadn't come true yet.

You focus on that feeling of love you have for that grumpy asshole, and Neo's voice rises. He burns the photograph of Helen and you feel the power in your chest reel, lurching and trying to be set free. This is what she wants too.

You feel yourself spiralling downward, away from it, the connection between you and Helen growing thinner and thinner as you think more about the life you've lived, and all the friends you've made along the way. There's no way that any of that wasn't your true self. That nights spent with Ted on the couch, laughing until the sun comes up, was always you. That the teasing between you and Neo, so easy and light, was always you. That want between you and Constantine. Even now, it's you who desperately wants him here, holding your hand through this. It's what YOU truly want. No one else. Just you.

And as you dig deeper into that, you feel the pain of losing a part of your soul. You try not to cry out, but the muffled yell escapes your trembling lips. You feel as if a part of your heart is dying, getting ripped out and taken from you. But you know, deep down, Helen wouldn't want you to be with John anyways. He's lost his love, kindness, tenderness from being bitter over her death for all these years.

No, you must separate, you must set Helen's soul free.

"End the cycle..." you hear it. Her voice whispering in your head.

And your jaw sets, teeth biting into teeth, and you take the pain, your screams gutteral and whining, body beginning to writhe as Neo continues the spell, knowing he cannot stop in the middle of it.

You feel your soul being torn apart and all you can think about are the people you love, the people you stay on this earth for, and somehow, you make it through.

Sweat clings to your face and body, and as you open your eyes you see yourself, transparent and floating above you. But you know it's not really you. You watch and Helen seems more peaceful than ever, her soul fading into the abyss. The magic dwindles down and finally after Neo says the final closing words to the ritual, and it's over.

You lay there, exhausted, and Neo comes to your side, and you barely hear what he's saying to you. You feel more hollow, less full and terrified. You have a numbness in your chest, but you also feel as if you can finally breathe after not being able to on your own for so long.

"You did great, I didn't know what would happen, but you made it!" Neo speaks kind words to you, slowly helping you sit up and rubbing your back as you do.

Your stomach clenches as you finally sit. The world seems so different now that you're looking through your fresh pair of eyes, and you stay there, still as Neo dabs your sweaty face kindly with a cloth.

"This should be enough to get him to stop hunting you, now that he can't find Helen's soul within you..." You nod as Neo talks and finally stand up after a while.

Neo takes you out of the summoning circle, letting you lean into him when you need. You sit on the edge of his bed and he leaves for a moment, returning with a small glass of water.

"Here," he says, and you don't realize how dry your mouth is until you take your first sip, happy to be in Neo's care.

"What if he keeps coming..." You whisper out finally.

"Then we kill him." Neo looks at you, and you can see in his eyes that it's true, he really does believe you can defeat this one way or another.

The someone knocks on the door to Neo's apartment, bangs really, and Neo leaves your side to open it.

It's Constantine, he's sweaty and looks worried. He rushes to your side, taking your hand and holding it in his.

"I felt," he speaks, his mouth open to search for the right thing to say. "I knew something was wrong..."

His Slayer abilities are more honed than yours but you wonder if the connection between you two goes deeper than that.

"How...?" You say, but Constantine puts his forehead to yours, and you close your eyes, feeling something between you two.

It feels as if the block between you and him has faded into nothing but scarred tissue. The connection is starting to truly flow for the first time, and it buzzes through your body.

"It's like..." Constantine whispers out. "A sudden weight was lifted, and I could finally feel you..."

You wonder if Helen's soul had been blocking this connection between you two, but you don't know if you'll ever know. All you do know is that he's here for you, and that's what you've always wanted.

Constantine moves and wraps his arms around you tightly, his hug warm and deep.

"Don't you dare scare me like that again." He whispers into your neck, and you nod, tears welling up.

"It's over now, I think..." You whisper back, and Constantine holds you as if he is afraid of letting you go.

"I'll make sure it is..." Constantine mumbles, the anger in his voice clear. For a second you're not sure if you heard him right or not.

You don't want Constantine hunting the vampire down if John is truly no longer interested in you. You don't feel like arguing now though, you're way too tired for all of that. Instead, you let Constantine and Neo take you home, both helping to carry you back.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It's been a few days, but Constantine hasn't left your side. He doesn't say much, as usual, but with the newfound connection between you two, he doesn't need to.

You begin to feel a bit better, the time after the soul seperation made you so weak. It was truly as if you recovering from some illness or injury. You suppose you were though, having soul surgery was no little task, as Neo later said.

Neo as well was there to support you, not always, but he often went out and got the things you and Constantine needed. He would stop and assess how you were doing as well, looking over your aura and making sure you were healing properly.

Ted has been out the whole time, and as the days go on you wonder where he's at. It wasn't uncommon for him to spend a few days a month just at Bill's place, but usually you would have seen him by now...

Tonight, you and Constantine sit on the couch, enjoying one of your favorite movies while he reminds you to drink more water every 15 minutes. You humor him, and let Nurse Constantine prescribe anything he deems necessary. Through your connection, you can feel how worried he is, so you don't want to add to it at all.

You haven't had any nightmares since the soul severance as well. In fact, you've had no dreams at all, and that's just fine with you. You wouldn't care if you ever dreamed again if it meant all that was over.

You gaze out the window by your couch, the full moon casting her loving gaze on the city. You feel the wind stir outside and you wonder what's next for you. You consider how much more slaying you really want to do, but you also know the need is in your blood. It's what you're made for, trained for. You aren't sure if you could ever give it up, but you also love how domestic and calm things have been the past few days. You glance to Constantine and see him for once, almost relaxed next to you, his arm gently and warmly around your shoulder.

Neo knocks at the door, and you can tell because Constantine has been training you to recognize energies better. You get ready to lift yourself from the couch to get the door, but Constantine is already getting it, not wanting you to lift a finger until you're better.

"I'm fine! Really!" You call out to him, and he shakes his head.

"Neo said it takes at least a week until you're fully better, it's only been three days." He grumbles back to you and opens the door.

What neither of you sensed or expected was what was behind that door.

Neo was there, yes, but behind him, claws dug into Neo's throat, was the vampire. Constantine immediately growls and wants to charge him, but it's clear that John will rip out Neo's throat if he does.

"Drop him!" Constantine barks, and you feel as if this is a dream.

"No, you're not supposed to..." You whisper out, slowly rising from the couch, still in some pain.

"Did you really think I wouldn't come back for a taste of that sweet blood of yours?" The vampire hisses at you, ignoring Constantine completely.

"You really shouldn't have done that, my sweet." John cackles. "Now that you've severed yourself from my past love, there's nothing stopping me from draining you dry."

Your body chills at his words, but you have to do something or else he may just kill the people closest to you. You step forward once more and you watch as John holds out his free hand to you, beckoning you to come to him.

"No! I'm not letting you go with him!" Constantine growls out and holds up a protective arm in front of you, trying to stop you from going.

"I'm not going to let him hurt my friends." You say this and know how true this statement is in your soul. You would rather sacrifice yourself than allow Neo or Constantine die trying to save you.

"That's right, my pretty little slayer...I will let your friends go in exchange for you." The vampire confirms with a sickening grin, fangs showing.

As you get closer, the vampire slowly lessens his grip on Neo. John gets more distracted by you coming near, obviously hungry and anger clouding his mind. You can feel Constantine planning something, and you want to call out to him to stop, but before you can, he has rushed the vampire just as you come to meet John's hand.

John's claw grazes Neo's throat, blood slipping from the shallow wound, but he also looses his grip on him. Neo scrambles away, into the apartment, and Constantine rolls on the ground with the vampire in the hallway. You immediately search for anything to help, and spot Constantine's slayer gear near the door.

You grab two stakes and run into the hallway, watching as the vampire begins to over power Constantine. You're screaming and you don't even know for what, but you run, stakes in hand, ready to kill. Just as you're about the strike, John turns, seeing you and using his arm to throw you back, against the wall. You hit it, your head bouncing off with a thud, and your visual blackens.

You see the fuzzy images of the vampire on top of Constantine, his claw coming down in a long gash against his chest. Neo is in the doorway, holding his neck and fumbling with something to try to help, but he was never made to be killing creatures like this. You see the fear in your friends eye, and hear the screams of your love as the vampire descends into the killing blow.

You struggle to attempt to get up, your head pounding, body still weak and recovering, when you hear it. A pounding down the hall. The sound of some great beasts coming your direction. You stare up in shock and awe as two furry creatures jump over you, straight for the vampire. You watch as what looks like giant wolves grip the vampire's arms in their teeth, dragging him off of Constantine. They snarl and growl, and you find yourself on your feet again, gripping the stake you could hold onto and walking towards the vampire.

All that rage, all that fury, it builds inside of you. You feel it moving off you in hot waves, especially as you see Constantine, halfway torn, and you don't know when you start screaming, but you do.

You move faster, the pain moved aside for anger and adrenaline. You watch as the wolves are practically playing tug of war with the vampire, but you know even ripped to shreds that's not how you kill him. The wolves seem to sense your plan and hold the writhing, spitting creature as you do what you should have done that first night.

You watch as the vampire looks you dead in your eyes, that redness showing only evil and hatred, and you raise the stake.

"I'm not letting you get another chance to kill my friends." You say plainly, and the vampire laughs, which only pisses you off more.

You don't wait for him to say some stupid line, his mouth opening to attempt something along those lines. No, you've heard enough.

You drive the stake down, through his heart, and he screams out, shaking and sputtering. The wolves drop his arms from their mouths and the vampire bursts into flames, thrashing until he's burned out into a pile of ash.

You stand there, the carnage before you, the mess of your apartment hall, and you feel your knees weaken. You know you're not done yet, you turn to Constantine, and see Neo is already at his side, dripping some sort of liquid from a vial into his wounds, and speaking a spell.

You rush to his side, falling next to him and holding his hand.

"I'm so sorry..." Is all you can say, tears streaming down your face.

You watch as Constantine tries to keep breathing, in and out, the pain obviously immense. His wounds begin to glow as Neo continues and you lean forward, kissing Constantine's forehead and murmuring words of encouragement to get through this. You can sense how much it helps, and you continue.

"I'm not going to let you die on me now, not after everything." You say to him, your hand gripping his, your tears falling on his face where yours is so close.

"You wish, Princess." He finally sputters out, and with that signature sarcasm of his, you know he'll be alright.

The spell finishes, and Constantine's wounds are closed, blood and rips in his shirt still evident.

"He'll live, but it looks like both of you will need to take it easy for a while." Neo says, and you see he's also healed his own neck where he was knicked.

You reach over Constantine's body and pull Neo into a deep hug.

"Where would we be with out you..." You give him a long squeeze and he laughs.

"Dead. Probably." He says with a wheeze from how hard you've hugged him. You let him go, and smile, happy that you have the type of support you do here.

Just as you're starting to help Constantine sit up, carefully, you see two people walking up to your little scene.

"That was like, so totally awesome, dude!" You hear that familiar voice and look up in surprise.

It's Ted! And he's stark naked next to an equally as naked Bill, neither really finding it important to cover up.

"What! You didn't tell me..." You start, confusion and awe sweeping away your words.

"That we were like, kinda cool and rad werewolves?" Bill answers with a chuckle and Ted high fives him.

"Yeah, we didn't think you needed more supe's in your roster, babe!" Ted replies with his signature goofy grin.

They both lean down and help you and Neo carefully move Constantine inside, setting him carefully on the couch. You all manage, despite a few groans and coughs from Constantine along the way.

You stay by his side while Bill and Ted leave to get dressed, and Neo says he's running to the bathroom to clean the blood from his neck. You look down at Constantine who looks up at you through tired eyes.

"Guess it's you who needed the saving this time," you say, teasing him just a little despite the small tears that still fall gently down your cheeks.

"Guess I did..." He says and his arm reaches up, softly cradling the back of your head and pulling you in.

Your breath is stolen as he kisses you for the first time, tasting of blood and sweat. You don't even care, you kiss him back, hard. You've been waiting for this for so long now, and you're not going to let it go. You move your lips against his with so much want, and he returns the feeling fully, the connection between you two pulsing with love. You know now that you two can make it through anything, and you have never felt more capable, in love, or safe by those around you.

You know that despite everything, you truly are a slayer, and with those you love by your side, you need not worry about the future.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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thedeathlysallows · 7 months

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TW: Blood and gore

Chapter 10: Mars

Meet me in Rome.

-R.S

It’s been weeks. Weeks. I’ve kept my distance, let her train, terrified poor Corrine into giving me a rundown every day of exactly what’s been happening in that gods damn tower, and now- now- it's finally paying off. It's time to play.

Fuck.

It feels good.

I grab my cloak and throw it over my shoulders, the silver V clasp cool beneath the tips of my fingers. The ruby glints in the candlelight, almost as if it knows where we’re going, what’s about to happen. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s actually true. There are rumors that Anne enchanted each piece of our armor centuries ago and these clasps are left over from that. Frankly, I don’t care. I’ve never needed magic to win. My strength has always been enough.

More than enough.

Roseanna will find that out soon.

For a human in a car it would take about three hours to get to Rome. For me it takes only the blink of an eye. The route there is familiar, comforting even. I’ve been with the Volturi for a thousand years, but Rome is still home to me. Soon, Roseanna will come to see things that way too. I’ll make Rome her home. I’ll make myself her home. Where ever I go, she will follow.

As soon as I find her fucking scent.

She should stick out even in the mass of people, but I can’t get a single hint of her on the breeze winding its way through the city. I should be able to smell her, feel her, something, anything. But there’s nothing. She’s hiding herself. She’s learned to hide herself again.

Anne really did take my little poison ivy under her wing.

Lovely.

I stroll through the city, sticking to the shadows, waiting for the sun to sink lower so I can move more freely. I don’t doubt this was part of her plan. Play on my perceived weakness in an attempt to gain some type of upperhand. Or maybe she’s buying herself time to set up some elaborate trap. Given Roseanna’s penchant for runes and sigils back when we first met, the latter idea feels more likely.

The sun slips beneath the horizon as my thoughts circle around Roseanna, and the moon hangs bright and full in the sky when I finally look up. My feet have carried me to the Colosseum as if they had a mind of their own. When I was human I spent quite a bit of time here. Too much time in fact. I step forward onto the mezzanine overlooking the gladiator arena… or what’s left of it at least. What once stood proud and grand, the greatest marvel of its time, is now decrepit and eroded.

“War flashbacks old man?” A feminine voice purrs from the shadows, and Roseanna steps out from an archway behind me. She’s clad in black leather that clings to each luxurious curve of her body. Her lips are stained bright red, the only real color on her.

“Something like that.” I rake my eyes over her body, taking my time to appreciate what she’s so kindly put on display for me.

She moves toward me, her hips swaying seductively with each step. She refuses to look away, to break eye contact. “You actually came.”

“You expected something different, darling?”

Roseanna smiles, reaching up to place a hand over my chest where my heart should be beating. Her touch is searing. “From you? Never.”

“So you enjoy stating the obvious. Noted.” I place my hand over hers and it feels like she’s actually on fire. “I see you’ve been busy. Fire magic is something Anne loves to show off.”

Her big doe eyes are round and innocent as she gazes up at me through her lashes. “What are you talking about?”

I grip her wrist and pull her hand away from my chest. My cloak is singed and smoking where she had been touching me. “Please don’t tell me you consider me that stupid? I know some might consider me a dumb brute-”

“A himbo.”

“What?”

Roseanna smiles and it’s positively radiant. “You’d be considered a himbo now.”

I… don’t even know where to start with that.

“Right…” I sigh in irritation. What the fuck had I even been talking about? Why am I here? Roseanna’s here, so I should be here… but… why? What was I doing? What am I doing?

Roseanna…

Rosie…

My poison ivy…

Mine.

She tilts her head to the side, observing me casually as I struggle to get my thoughts back on track, a dull, thudding pain forming at the base of my skull. She clicks her tongue and purses her lips.

“Are you feeling okay, big guy?”

I swipe out a hand to grab her, but my fingers trail through mist as if she wasn’t even really there.

Is she… is she there?

I don’t know.

I can’t tell.

She’s laughing, though. That much I can tell.

I can also tell my sudden brain fog is her newest magic trick.

“Over here,” she says from just over my shoulder.

I spin and wave out an arm. I’m met yet again with the strange mist from the first time.

“Too slow,” she taunts. “Try over here.”

I lunge to the side.

Again, there’s nothing but that fucking mist.

“Enough!” My voice is thunderous enough that a few of the more unsteady pillars shake.

She giggles, materializing in front of me. “Aw, but I was just starting to have fun.”

“Do you know who isn’t having fun?”

“You?”

I smirk, straightening up to stand at my full height. “Your father when I paid him a visit while you were off playing witch with Anne. I can’t imagine going through the pain of raising a child like you just to be completely abandoned by her when she decides she wants to be a superhero.”

All mirth fades from Roseanna’s face. “I never abandoned Charlie. I’ve had to keep him at arm’s length. I wasn’t given a choice!”

“Ohh, someone’s getting angry. Is this that same anger that put Bella in the hospital when you were children?”

Roseanna’s heart beat stutters and she looks at me like she’s just seen death. “How the fuck do you know about that? Charlie would never tell you…”

I shrug. “Wouldn’t he? It’s amazing what a human will say when their sad little life is being threaten-”

Before I can even finish my sentence there’s a blast of white hot energy and I’m flung against a reconstructed pillar. Roseanna stalks towards me, flames licking at her fingertips. I rise to my feet and plant myself in a defense stance.

“We can sit here and play cat and mouse all day, Felix, I don’t care, but leave my family alone. Charlie, Bella, they have nothing to do with whatever fucked up relationship we have.” Roseanna thrusts her hand forward and I find myself pinned in place. “Besides, you aren’t my biggest fight right now. I have more important stuff to do than let you bully me because you have a crush on me.”

“What could possibly be more important than me? Than us?” I’m both offended and annoyed at the prospect.

“Revenge.”

“Here I was thinking you wanted revenge on me.”

“Don’t worry, I do.” Roseanna pats my arm condescendingly. “You’re a pain in my ass and you’re the reason I’m even in this mess, but Anne helped me realize something.”

“And what would that be?” I roll my eyes. Fucking Anne and her desire to play psychiatrist for everyone she comes across. All I needed her to do was teach Roseanna enough magic to make things interesting again, and what does she do? Turn my mate into one of her sycophants.

Caius was bad enough the first two hundred years of their marriage.

Roseanna is going to be downright unbearable.

She and I- we’re one in the same. She’s obsessive in the worst sense of the word, and I know that, I recognize that because we’re the same. She was made to fit perfectly at my side. We were made to terrorize one another until-

“Hey! Are you even listening?!” Roseanna’s mouth is set in a hard line. Her hands are crossed over her rib cage, pushing up her breasts-

She snaps her fingers. “Eyes up here, asshole!”

“I’ll be perfectly honest, darling. My brain is still a tad foggy from whatever you did earlier.”

She frowns. Deeply. “Felix, I didn’t do anything to your brain.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe. Shut up.”

I nod and gesture with my hand. “Sorry, go over your grand scheme one more time.”

“No. I don’t think I will. You can figure it out as we go.”

“We?”

“Yes. We. If you had been listening instead of staring at my tits you would’ve heard me say I’m calling a truce because I need muscle for the next,” she counts on her finger, “however fucking long this takes.”

I can’t help the grin that tugs at my lips. “A truce?”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ-”

“I’m partial to the Roman pantheon.”

“-it’s like talking to a toddler.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’ve got a headache now.”

“I can fix it. All you need to do is give up on the rest of your mortal life and trade it in for an immortal one.”

Roseanna fixes me with a withered stare. “Please shut the fuck up for once.”

“No.”

“I quit,” she yells to the starry night sky. “Do you hear that Anne? Wherever you are? I quit!”

“Booo!”

She turns back to me. “You’re insane.”

“Oh, now is when you figure that out?”

With a wave of her hand I find myself able to move freely once again. I tense and flex each muscle, wiggling my fingers just to feel them move.

“This is the most civil we’ve ever been to each other,” she mutters as she looks at the ground.

“Does it count as civil if you almost killed me?”

“You’ve tried to kill me multiple times!”

I wave away her indignation.

“Do you want to know a secret, darling?” I close what little distance there is between us, each movement careful and measured. “I’ve finally completely made up my mind about you.”

“Oh?”

I nod, slipping my arm around her waist and letting my lips trace the shell of her ear. “You’re mine until the end of time. If you try to leave me, I’ll kill you. If you run, I’ll hunt you down. You’re simply too delicious to let go of.”

And she is.

The scent of her blood is enough to have me feeling drunk.

“I debated for a long time about whether I wanted to keep you or kill you. Should I fuck you or fight you? Then, just now, I realized I can have it all.”

Roseanna looks up at me. I memorize the pink flush of blood just beneath her skin. “What are you talking about?”

My lips trail slow, deliberate kisses over her throat. “I’m your life, your death, and your rebirth. I’m your god.”

I sink my teeth in the supple flesh of her neck and blood floods my mouth in an instant. She tastes like heady Roman wine. Fruity with a gentle burn. She whimpers beneath me, her nails clawing helplessly at my skin. I hate to tear myself away, I’ve waited so patiently for this, but necessity demands it. If I take too much she won’t wake up after the transformation. She’ll simply be… dead.

“Felix,” she slurs my name, her heartbeat dangerously slow.

I shush her, biting down on my own wrist until the ichor flows forth. She tries to fight me when I press my wrist to her mouth, shaking her head as violently as she can manage. I grip her jaw and shove my wrist in her mouth. There’s a moment of hesitation before she latches on and drinks deeply. A heady tingling sensation surges through me and my core grows warm when Roseanna moans and clings tightly to me. I’ve heard stories about the ecstasy of the transformation, but all I remembered from my own was pain. So I never believed. Until now. Until my poison ivy.

Everything changed with Roseanna.

#felix volturi #felix volturi imagine #volturi fanfiction #felix volturi x oc

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freemindedspirit · 9 months

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Hi! If you don’t want to answer this, you don’t have to, of course, but I was just wondering how you’d go about a “back to the sender” type spell?

I want my abuser to go through all the pain that they put me through, nothing more, nothing less. Just a reflection of their own actions back at them. I’ve never practiced witchcraft before though, so this is all very new to me. So if you were me, how would you go about doing that?

Is it wrong that I am kinda excited about this ?

You are gonna have to start with the basics I gave in the protection post though. For any spell that could cause harm to another person, you gotta remember that " you cant throw dirt without getting your hands dirty". You will have to cleanse your space and your tools before and after, just so the "dirt" does not stick on you too much. But just like I said, spells have a cost, so there is no way you can do that spell without experiencing a consequence on yourself as well. Since this is happening after the fact, this is more of a "getting back" spell than a strictly protective one, I expect the cost to be energy, maybe some turmoil on the emotional level. The cost might be that the universe will expect you to heal some the wounds they caused, or to do some shadow work in exchange for the spell to work, if you have not done that yet.

This type of spell can be considered baneful by some people, so when you do it dont be too open about it to people who would disagree with you, just in case they might be able to interfere.

Since you mentioned reflection, i think the best way to do this will be by using a mirror. Depending on how you want to do this, you can make it a once-and-for-all spell, that would go out and then you don't see, like with a candle. But you can also keep a token of your spell if you would like, it might be less safe though. Just be careful with it and make sure it is kept far away and contained. As a witch, i would also recommend to care for the environment, so dont throw it away just anywhere.

The list of ingredients is an advice on what i would do, knowing what i have rn, but you can definitely replace a few things.

Materials/ ingredients :

a mirror (if you keep the token), a piece of broken mirror (if you throw it)

red and black inks or pens

paper

optional: red and black candles ( white candles can be used as a replacement for any candles as well)

salt to contain the spell and protect yourself

glue or duck tape if you dont use candles.

optional: something that is linked to your abuser (picture, hair, name etc)

Steps:

ground and center

cleanse

create a circle of salt in which you will do spell. It can be a big one if you would like to sit in it, or a small one where you only write, use the candles etc

On the paper, add the thing linked to your abuser

I made you a sigil:

Its meaning is "All the harm you have done to me first, you receive the same. I am safe and away from you"

Draw it in red on the paper. You can create your own, if this one does not make sense to you.

glue it or use the red wax to stick it to the back of the mirror, then put the mirror down face up.

On another piece of paper, right "I am away and safe from you. You can't touch me" in black.

Do not glue this one, but just put it under the mirror, keep the mirror face up. You can use the black candle here to seal closed this paper.

You can now repeat three times : "All the harm you have done to me first, you receive the same. I am safe and away from you"

Or if you want them to experience specific things, you could say "All of the crying you made me do, you receive the same" or whatever they put you through.

Optional step: the guard. Would you like the spell to stop taking effect if suddenly the person changed ? Do you want to do the spell because you want them to suffer or you want them to change? If the answer is "suffer", then don't add a guard, but be ready for negative energy to be bounced back into your life if their behavior do change. if the answer is "change", then you can add something like "for the highest good of all". This is something only you can know for yourself, how much dirt you are okay with having on your hands.

You are going to have to use your gut, but notice a change how you feel right after throwing the spell. Once you feel that it is done, put an end to it. If to you, you felt like it was the candles that were giving the spell energy, then you can let them run their course ( please use fire safety, and use smaller candles in this case). If you borrowed energy from something else ( the Earth, electricity from your phone etc) thank them and close the connection. If you want to get rid of it, then throw it in its destined bin, if not then put it hidden somewhere where you can contain it or where the energy would not be close to you, for example in a bathroom, or in a cleaning closet instead of under your bed. Finally cleanse the space, yourself, and take care of yourself. You may be exhausted, or emotional, or you might get triggered or have nightmares for a couple days. It is okay, take the time to care for yourself and rest.

If you have any further questions, feel free to ask them !

#baneful magic #spells #witchblr #witchcraft #baby witch #spell #revenge spell #spellcraft #spellwork

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bluerose5 · 1 year

Text

The Nightmare Part 3

In which I lie about this only being 3 parts 😂

Links to the other 2 parts are in the reblogs.

~~~

Anders stiffens when he and Justice, as host and spirit, is lifted up into strong arms.

Their skin is cold and clammy, and their body feels as if it's falling apart at the seams.

"Anders."

The call of his name slowly trickles in.

"Anders!"

When they finally process it, they glance up.

Garrett stares back at them, wide-eyed with worry, his brow furrowed.

But more importantly, his forehead is bare, free of any brand.

Even then, Anders reaches out with a shaky hand to brush brown curls away, feeling nothing but smooth skin beneath their touch.

"G–Garrett," Anders stammers, their voice noticeably deeper with Justice's lingering presence. "I—" Even knowing that Garrett is okay, their heart refuses to stop racing, that sense of dread closing in on them from all sides. Still, all they can manage to say is, "You're safe."

"I am," he assures them.

"I feel like I'm dying," Anders gasps, squirming restlessly. "I can't breathe!"

"You're in a panic," Garrett explains, soft and slow, adjusting his hold on them. "It might feel like you're dying now, but you're not, Anders. This feeling will pass. I'm safe. You're safe. We're both home. In the estate."

Anders tries to focus on the words and their meanings, but even those reassurances do little to calm them. They shake their head, frantic.

Garrett purses his lips.

Then, he reaches for something at his belt.

When he brandishes his knife, Anders eyes it, wary.

"Trust me," Garrett murmurs. Anders meets his eyes. "Do you and Justice trust me?"

With their life.

Speechless, Anders nods, incapable of forming words.

Garrett slices into his own finger. Pressing it against Anders' temple, he forms a sigil with his blood and sheathes his knife.

A simple healing spell closes the wound. Garrett brushes his lips over the sigil, whispering a soft incantation.

All at once, a surge of calm washes over them.

Remnants of their panic still linger, though, its roots running deep. Their heart still pounds, and their body shudders.

But their breathing slows ever so slightly. Their mind clears, the fog slowly but surely dissipating.

They're not completely free of their anxiety yet, but Garrett’s spell does the trick, allowing their senses to return to them. It's enough that they regain some control, at least.

Garrett takes Anders' hands in his, one by one, and places the first atop Anders' chest, followed by the other on his stomach.

He speaks to him again, voice gentle yet firm.

"Breathe with me," Garrett tells him. "Focus on me. Here. Now. With you. Focus on the air flowing through your body."

Anders nods.

"Okay. Inhale through your nose." Anders listens closely. He follows Garrett’s instructions exactly as he says. "Now, hold." Garrett guides him through each step. "Purse your lips, and exhale. Repeat."

They work together to synchronize their breathing.

Eventually, they manage to match each other's pace, slowing to a steady rhythm.

Anders focuses on Garrett the entire time, and Garrett is more than happy to remind him that he's safe. That he's loved. That they're together.

As the fear subsides, blue light dims, and Justice returns to his more dormant state, always present but lingering more so in the background for now.

Garrett holds Anders close, refusing to part, even after the worst passes.

Considering all that has happened, Anders feels drained.

And empty.

He settles close to Garrett’s chest until he's able to speak.

"I'm sorry," he rasps.

Garrett stares down at him, confused.

"Sorry about what?"

"For being a burden."

"Anders." Garrett sighs with a shake of his head. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"But I—"

"Shh…" Garrett presses a finger to Anders' lips, then caresses his cheek. "Stop. You are not burdening anyone with this. All I care about is you feeling better. Here."

Helping him to his feet, Garrett supports most of his weight as they make their way downstairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, Anders digs his heels in when he realizes where they're going.

When Garrett looks at him in question, Anders simply says, "Not the library."

Although Anders expects more probing, Garrett doesn't dig any deeper for an explanation.

Instead, he leads them into the kitchen, shutting the doors behind them to give them some privacy.

After he takes a second to wet a rag, Garrett wrings it of excess water. He takes it and gently cleans his blood from Anders' skin.

Once he's done, he sets to work.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #anders #garrett hawke #da justice #handers #justhanders #bluerose writes #bluerose rambles #I'll put the links to the other parts in the reblogs #because my posts haven't wanted to show up in the tags recently with links 🙃#good old tumblr

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lorkai · 1 year

Note

Can I request for like a HCs of otherworld elite demon gn MC? Bc I was inspired by the topic of the observable universe and my friend came into conclusion of like what if there is different heaven and hells in each universe with different gods y'know? Anyway can you do it for the dateables + Diavolo?

A/N: It took me a while, huh? Sorry about that anon dear, but I must say I absolutely loved your idea. Never would have thought of something like that, I just hope I did it justice enough! Btw I also included Thirteen! o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o

Universes and dimensions. And in each of them there were their demons and their angels, there was an incredibly colorful and joyful culture and you, as an elite demon, can only laugh at the demons who brought you from your world thinking you were a simple human. You look at your hands, wondering what their reaction would be if you showed your claws or your powers. But you hold back, it's fun to see them act with you as if you were a mere human, too fragile to touch. And as you got closer to a specific person you told them about the history of heaven and hell in your world, the people and their religious practices, the songs they sang and the things you liked. And told them about how you were a demon. You even showed them your sigil, laughing, saying you might or might not make a pact with them if you wanted to.

And Diavolo sincerely finds it amusing. He didn't feel any magic, nothing different from what he feels when he's in the presence of demons and he's super invested in finding out all about the other dimensions and about you, about what makes you so different from him. He wants to know everything he can learn because you are someone dear to him and if possible he would like to visit your dimension from time to time to see how different your house and his are different, to see the landscape, the fauna and flora and many more other things. He 100% looks like an excited child bouncing around, in case you give in and agree to take him into your world.

But it is Barbatos who probably knew that different universes and dimensions, different societies and elites existed. He is, after all, the guardian of time and time runs everywhere, regardless of whether it is in this dimension where he acts as a simple butler or in another. And he's always cooking typical dishes from your world and dropping comments that only you can understand, he wants to make you feel welcome even in his own way and having someone able to understand your memes and culture is really amazing.

Ah, Solomon has his eyes twinkling when you tell him about heaven and hell that exists, and how different they are compared to this particular dimension. You imagine, however, that the sorcerer's excitement is because he can make new pacts with you and other demons, as well as learn new spells and grow even stronger. And can you blame him? It's not every day that his new best friend comes from another dimension, he wants to know everything, every ounce of knowledge about where you were born, about your favorite foods, about music, about gods, about laws, everything. And he's only going to be satisfied when he sets foot in your world, until then Solomon doesn't mind using his imagination.

Luke finds it all ironic. You've always tucked him into bed and told him lots of stories to put him to sleep, stories your parents used to tell you when you were just a little kid and he should have deduced that they were original enough to be so rich in detail. Despite the shock of learning that you are not a human but a demon, an elite demon by the way, Luke is handling the news well, he knows you are a good person and have a selfless heart. And honestly he is more than happy to hear everything you have to say about your homeland, especially from heaven and its creator, if possible he would also like to recreate some dishes and hear more stories.

It's not as if Simeon didn't know about the existence of other dimensions, as various rumors about them circulated in the Celestial Realm, but knowing so well that they were true makes him fascinated. He sets aside his Friday days just to ask questions about his world and his home, and he uses all that knowledge to create a new character in his book, a character that audiences love. And of course because he wants you to feel very welcome in this dimension, besides trying to convince you to go up to the Celestial Realm with him so he can show you the pearly rivers and the lush green forests so beautiful that it takes your breath away - he doesn't care if you're an elite demon, he loves you anyway, platonic or romantically.

Thirteen literally doesn't care. She knows from the start that you are not a human, for your soul is strange and unfamiliar, unlike anything she has ever seen while working as a reaper. And precisely because she is a reaper she has traveled through various dimensions collecting souls and guiding them to the places they deserve to be, but it was work and she never had much time to pay attention to your version of the human world or hell. But now she's excited and wants to hear everything you have to tell, every gossip and intrigue, and if you give her permission she wants to caress your horns, wings or tail, she loves the sound of your voice explaining something complex as she listens.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me swd #swd obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me luke #obey me 13 #obey me thirteen #lorkai headcanon #anon request

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wolfanddragon98 · 2 years

Text

The Starks and the Tyrells (Histories & Lore)

So lately I was listening to some GOT lore and I kind of wanted to do one for the fanfiction Blood and Thorns written by @dreaming-for-an-escape. I wrote this in Garlan’s point of view (aka Maeve’s brother). I can only hope that as the story is going to expand I’ll be able to write more.

P.S The drawing that you see wasn’t created by me. I only added the sigils in the background and changed some colours around to make the female character look more like Maeve. If anyone knows the creator of the original drawing, please let me know so that I can credit that person properly.

Now, onto the lore! Picture Sam Claflin narrating this if you want to immerse yourself even more. :)

During the reign of the former King Robert Baratheon, House Stark and House Tyrell were among the most recognizable seats of power in Westeros. Of course, this should come as no great surprise, for one ruled over the vast region of the North, and the other controlled the South.

While the Starks and the Tyrells were never deemed enemies, they had their undeniable differences of opinion in the past. During Robert’s Rebellion, the Tyrells were one of the few houses who remained loyal to the dynasty of the dragon. The Starks, who lost half of their own at the hands of the Mad King Aerys, were naturally on the opposing side.

Fortunately, after the Mad King’s heir Rhaegar Targaryen fell at the Trident, the noble Robert Baratheon decided to pardon the House Tyrell and kept them seated as the Wardens of the South. While most say that we were spared out of mercy, we knew the real truth. Robert Baratheon might have not been the brightest person alive, but he was not stupid. No one could keep the lands as fertile as the Tyrells.

Over the years the Seven Kingdoms remained somewhat peaceful under the Baratheon rule. I, along with my brothers and sisters, were fortunate enough to live out our childhoods in stability and tranquility. Our biggest concerns ranged from not being able to go horse riding to being denied dessert for not finishing our supper. Oh, those were the days.

Our childhood phase has officially come to an end when my youngest sister, Maeve was summoned to see our beloved grandmother, commonly known by many as the Queen of Thorns. At the time we did not know that the next time we would see our little sister, she would be a woman betrothed.

Neither of us expected such news. Not only was our sister the first of the Tyrell children to be promised to someone, she was to become the wife of Robb Stark, the heir of Winterfell. From a political viewpoint this match was indisputably the best strategic move on the Tyrells part. We would finally be able to put down roots in the powerful North. Still, it is rather difficult to see the benefits of such an arranged matrimony when you are blinded by the love you have for your sister. While my elder brother Willas and I tried to keep our emotions at bay for the sake of our sweet sister Maeve, we could not help but feel a touch of concern for her. She was a delicate flower, full of compassion and kindness. How could she ever properly settle in the cold and depressing North?

It did not take very long for my siblings and I to make a secret pact between ourselves. After all, we had to find out exactly who my sister was marrying into. If he was to be declared not worthy of her hand…we would deal with him accordingly.

To our utter relief, Robb Stark was everything that we could have hoped for. After assessing him carefully we knew he would do. Just, brave, protective and loyal to his family, the qualities us Tyrells cherish the most. The way the Young Wolf’s eyes lit up every time he saw our little sister was also a nice touch. But between you and me, I believe the lovestruck look was equally reciprocated, no matter how often my stubborn sister tried to deny it.

House Stark and House Tyrell officially joined their houses the moment Robb Stark and our sweet Maeve exchanged their vows in front of the Old Gods and the Weirwood tree. They were so entranced with one another that it felt almost intrusive for us to be there. We were like ghosts, mere spectators on their sacred day. The wedding feast was out of this world, and the sour look that remained on my younger brother’s face was among the many things that have brought me great amusement that night. It also seemed like our grandmother was quite satisfied with her choice of a husband for our sister. After all, we did not see the Stark boy foaming at the mouth or clutching desperately onto his throat. Unbeknownst to him, he successfully passed the Tyrell test.

My sister and her husband spent their honeymoon phase in complete peace. From the letters that I have received, my sister was perfectly content and I as her brother could not have been any happier for her. Unfortunately, their peace was shattered the moment Ned Stark and his daughters rode out to King’s Landing. Back then, no one knew that next time the honorable man would return, it would be in a chest with his head detached from his body. Robb Stark was rightfully so furious with the Lannisters, and Maeve, being the dutiful wife that she is, stood by his side.

In that moment I should have realized that this was only the beginning to the end.

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vox-ex · 2 years

Note

Supercorp + 71 "no reason"?

Sometimes saying I love you comes when you are scared, sometimes it comes only after the end of so much else. Here's my take on a little supercorp finale love confession.

---- --- ---

Fragile Rhythm (Kara and Lena)

Sometimes Lena's heart beats a fragile rhythm.

It's not that it beats too fast, or too slow, or even that it sounds like it's beating out of time.

Sometimes it just sounds like it beats too gentle, too quiet.

Like it's got some kind of secret to tell.

Like it'll be found out if it dared beats a step out of time.

And so Kara tries to be careful with its softness, answers it with soft words and soft touches and a quietness of her own.

Even on the days, it gets louder.

Loud enough to feel beneath her fingers — to make the closeness of their bodies too impossible to ignore.

Loud enough for her hands to want to be bolder — to wander to all the places she might feel the things Lena's heart has to say.

But most days it is still quiet, still fragile, still feels capable of breaking.

Today is a quiet day.

The world is finally quiet again too.

The dust barely settled as the sun buries itself into the horizon.

Lena is lying in her arms, fingers wrapped in the fabric of her sweater, and Kara tries to measure her breathing, tries to steady the rise of her chest. Wonders if Lena can feel the things her own heart does. If she knows that it speeds up whenever she's so close like this.

Lena lays a hand on Kara's forearm, keeping their fingers together like she's afraid the other might slip away, and Kara kisses the palm of her hand.

And it's too much. She knows it's too much.

But they came so close today to losing each other.

She came so close today again to losing everything.

And maybe she is willing to risk at least these little moments.

Maybe Lena's heart is not a fragile as she fears.

She is still here after all — still here after everything.

And maybe that's enough.

Maybe it's just enough.

But she still feels like she has to be careful, knows that she will always be careful with Lena's heart.

And so when Lena's hand slips around her waist, Kara turns to rest her cheek against the top of her head, willing her own heart to steady the both of them there where they are safest.

But then she looks down and sees Lena's eyes wide and curious, her finger tracing the invisible outline of her sigil across her chest.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

And Kara just shrugs, unsure what else to do, what else to say.

"like what?"

Lena's hand reaches up from her chest and places a gentle touch on the center of her brow.

"Crinkle"

And she tries to the truth behind the lopsided grin she gives her, behind the gentle way she pulls her hand down and traps it against her chest once more. She tries to be gentle, just a little longer with both of their hearts.

"no reason"

"Kara."

But then Lena says her name, and she shifts again, and this time Kara can't stop herself from tightening her arms around her waist, suddenly too afraid to let go, to be careful.

And it's like Lena's heartbeat tightens around her too, reaches out to meet the sudden eagerness of her hands, aching to be heard.

""I know you're scared," Kara hears the way the Lena’s voice hesitates, "I'm, I'm scared too," feels the small breath she takes as she slides a little closer.

She tries to hold her breath in turn but her lungs hurt like she’s been running for days under a red sun.

She pulls back and looks up into Lena's eyes, holds them with her own.

"If I say it, I won't ever be able to not mean it."

"I want you to say it."

"I love you, of course I love you." she whispers.

Lena's fingers tangle once more into her sweater, pulling against the fabric as she tries to bring them even closer.

And Kara lets her, will always let her.

Will always want her as close as space itself allows.

Lena kisses the spot below Kara's ear, whispers back, "Thank you," and kisses her again along the angle of her jaw, "Thank you for waiting for me."

Kara lets a breath out against her hair, lets her hands travel up to Lena's back.

"Thank you for saving me" her voice catching just a little as she guides them back to the center of each other, lips brushing together as she does.

She kisses Lena slowly, gently, the movement every bit a contrast to the racing of both their hearts.

Still cautious, still careful.

But then Lena is kissing her back, tilting up to meet her, as she brings them together one more time.

And Kara doesn't miss the way her breath trembles a little when they pull apart.

"It's okay." she breathes against Lena's hair, "I've got you."

Lena nods, resting her head back against Kara's chest.

"I was so scared to love you."

"I know" Kara whispers, wraps an arm around her, pulls her close again.

She kisses the crown of Lena's head and watches her eyes flutter closed again.

"I was too."

Her lips brush against her forehead.

"But we don't have to be scared anymore."

#supercorp #supergirl #ask away friends #100 ways to say i love you #i hope you like this anon #we are in the endgame now #sometimes I try to write soft things

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husbandohunter · 3 years

Note

May I request a Childe X Reader fanfic where the reader has been pushing herself too hard lately and so Childe has to forcefully get her to rest? ty

By my side [Childe x Reader]//Genshin Impact

Synopsis: You were an artist and he was an adventurer. Two people from vast backgrounds and Childe just wants to spend some time of his busy life with you. However, things didn't really go his way...at first.

(Childe x F!reader. Its all fluff)

(A/n): Perfect request anon. I too, would like to have a Childe in my life. Been getting 5-6 hours of sleep on average 😃😁. Yeah kind tossed some extra ideas with artist s/o, its a perfect reason for anyone to be busy.

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

Once recieving the permission to take a week off from his diplomatic duties, the first thing Childe thought of was none other than his lovely significant other.

The harbinger knew quite well what lays ahead of his ventures to Liyue. During his quest for the archon's gnosis, he encountered many interesting events, such as meeting the rumoured traveller hailing from afar and a broke yet courteous man who turned out to be the ultimate ruler of this very country he walks upon then there was the battle against a dead god until he revived it using the sigil of permission. All of them were great additions to his story as Ajax the hero, something he always wanted to pursue since childhood. In which, also gave him something nice to write about when preparing letters for his siblings living back home. But little did the harbinger know that he'll one day bump into the heroine. A little too soon. Through your little art shop, he met you, a sweet and audacious woman with plenty of humour. That was how it all began.

While he strides down the streets between Liyue's exquisite buildings, Childe suddenly stops in his tracks and looks up to the sky. There, was painted a scenery of an evening dusk, sun rays relfected across until red and orange hues cast a river stream that led to the ends of the world. He watched the birds follow that streak like it was a path made for them to fly towards. A new adventure. You would have loved to captured this in your pictures.

And then he wonders, what might you be painting right now?

"Hey babe, I'm home~"

In a sing-song voice he calls out to you by your nick-name. You knew that Childe was an active member of the Fatui and that his time was limited, hence he made sure to write to you as well. Of course long distant relationships only makes the waiting more anticipated. When he does pay a visit, you'd run straight into his open arms, leaping off your feet to engulf him in one enourmous embrace. Then his hands will hold against your waist as he spins your round and around in the air, stealing the laughter out of your lungs before planting you back on the floor. Sometimes Childe would consider that being far away wasn't be such a bad idea as long as he was able to experience this, the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory. However...

"That's great."

He was met by a response similar to the wintry grace of Snezhnaya.

Huh?

All the fantasies he had from earlier shatters in the background as he stands there frozen. You didn't even spare a glance to the entrance, eyes still glued to the large canvas displayed at your front, too busy to even care. Childe clicks his tongue between the awkward silence with an uncertain expression. When there was no signs of initiation on your part, he shuffled his way to where you were and observes from behind.

"Well you're particularly quiet today," he muses to himself, placing a hand over his hip, "I guess that painting of yours must be really important then."

It was obvious that he was trying to nudge you into his favour. Something that you've found endearing was how quickly your boyfriend can be when he's in a needy state. So you quickly twisted over to peck him on the cheek before going back to work.

"That's better," Childe satisfiedly grins, "So who is this project for?"

"It's a commission requested by a wealthy family serving the Qixing. They're really influential in terms of the market and can really give me a competitive edge. I have to get it done in five days."

His tone flactuates as he squints his eyes, "Five days you say," he disliked the news of your schedule taking over his own, Childe only managed to take a week off and after that, he'll be away for quite some time, "Why don't you take a break? From the looks of your progress, it seems to me that you've been working on it for hours. I've got plenty of interesting stories to tell and you know, nothing can compare to sharing a warm meal within your company," he leans down to your ear level, "How does that sound?"

Several seconds went by as he waits for some sort of reaction, "Oh. Right," you blurted out and the harbinger only smiles, "I made some food earlier this morning. You can go help yourself if you're hungry."

Today was not his day.

Childe pulls out the wooden chair and slumps into the seat, a defeated huff escaping his mouth as he stared at the crystal shrimp placed on the table. It was hastily wrapped by plastic, most likely cold for a while, just like the romantic evening he had planned in his head. Normally you'll be sitting on the otherside while listening to the many tales he went through along the way. Although painting was your passion, it was undeniable that you also enjoyed his kind of lifestyle if you ever had the choice. He was rather surprised on how someone ambitious like him would end up with such a simplistic person but quickly accepted it as life was meant to be unpredictable, just the way he likes it. As Childe entertains you with his stories, he'll listen to your giggles amidst eating the homecooked meals that you both prepared together.

"I wonder if she ate already," he mumbled to his lone self. You most likely did but Childe knows you well. Artists are obsessed and they can go as far as to neglecting their own health for the sake of their masterpieces. Hence, he made sure to remind you to eat properly through the letters he wrote to you.

The harbinger takes a quick glance around the kitchen. It was a mess. The cupboards were slightly opened, metal pots were still displayed on the stone stove and the stench coming from the sink....

Childe pushes himsel up to see what was the cause.

Not even the dishes were washed.

Running his fingers through his bangs, he sighs wearily, "Old habits die hard huh?" And above all else, when artists are obsessed they also forget how disorganized they can become. Childe begins to roll up his sleeves before taking off his gloves. At times like this he'll have to pitch in and take care of it for you, "Looks like I'll be here for a while."

Throughout three sunsets and three moonrises, Childe had no option but to observe you from afar, minus the few attempts he made to regain your attention again. How you would go to bed much later than him, waking up before he opens his eyes and the effort he put into making your food only left with too many leftovers. It wasn't that you were unappreciative, instead, your mind had become too focused that your body was considered a second priority. Like anyone else, Childe genuinely thought you possessed great talent and supports you wholeheartedly. He loved it when you painted pictures just for him as if they were scenes coming out of his hero story, reminded by his adventures, capturing every detail. However he also needed to learn how to deal with this stubborn side of yours.

"Hey babe, I just finished preparing our dinner. Don't you smell that? Such a rich aroma, you should go eat."

"I'm busy."

Your diet were just small bites, the rest being substituted by coffee. Childe could clearly tell that you weren't getting enough sleep either as there were dark circles forming underneath your eyes and slowly, he was starting to become a little irritated.

Three hours passed midnight but you were still awake in the same place doing the same thing. Childe leans against the doorframe with arms folded, already changed into his sleeping clothes. He clears his throat to break the silence, "Ahem."

Your wrist hangs in mid air by the sound of a strange visitor, it was your boyfriend. Gaze in a daze, you lazily turned your head, "What time is it?"

"Way passed the sleeping hours as you can see," he points with his thumb at the table clock in a half-hearted manner, "You should already be in bed by now and don't think you can coax yourself out of the situation this time," his eyes parted in slits as he added with a smile, "Otherwise I might just have to force you myself."

You shook your head, "Give me one more hour? There's some finishing touches I really want to add so," clasping your hands together, you beamed sweetly, "Pretty please? I'll finish up soon."

"Oh really?" Childe challenges, head tossed back like he was interrogating you instead, "I believe that was also what you told me yesterday. And the day before? Adding up all of those days that would be.....four in total?" He deliberately counts upon his fingers before facing you again, this time his expression was slightly more serious, "As much as I find your determination remarkable, there are moments when you need to consider a sufficient amount of rest and this just isn't going to cut it."

"Four days already?!" You exclaimed, "Jeez, I don't even know if I'm halfway done."

Pressing his lips together, Childe glares in an acutely deadpanned countenance, it was also his time too, "Can't you ask this commissioner to extend your due date to next week? In your case, mora shouldn't be the issue since, well...you're dating me anyways."

It's true. Childe was the main reason why you didn't have to live as a starving artist. He had all your expenses fully covered from the marketing aspect to your residence, you simply chose to work out of pure will.

"I don't want to always rely on you so much," you confessed, "This commissioner could turn my whole career around. If I'm able to gain his favour, maybe I'll get promoted to a court painter for the Qixing! Who knows when there will ever be a chance like this again," pumping your fists, you spoke purposefully, "I'll pull an all nighters if I have to!"

Childe brings his hand to his forehead, you looked as if you were nearly about to collapse and yet still considering the option of an all-nighters? The harbinger should've detained you days prior before.

"Hm? Childe, what's wrong?" He suddenly falls deadly quiet and you watched him walk closer towards you, "What are--"

Hooking an arm behind your knees and the other at your back, your boyfriend lifts you up in one full swoop as he tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Guess we'll have to do things the hard way," he remarks cheerfully.

"W-Wait," you flailed your arms and kicked your legs but to no avail. Childe was an experienced combatant indeed, "Put me down! I have work to do."

Your protests fall upon deaf ears as the harbinger carries you to your room. You were oddly lighter than the last time he carried you, the strength less vigor than before, it was obvious that your body was in need of relaxation. He suddenly thinks there was a possibility that you would maintain this habit while he was absent.

I should probably visit more often.

Using his free leg to nudge the door open, he places you upon the shared bed in a gentle manner. You winced at the impact of the soft sheets, surprised by how much it affect you.

"There we go. All done. Man, you really are a stubborn one, aren't you. Makes me a little worried since I can't spoil you all the time."

He quickly invited himself to the empty space on your bedside and wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you close and feeling you whole. Childe made sure there was no escape once putting his chin above your hairline so that you could feel his warmth as much as possible.

"This is--" you stuttered. His tactic was enough to make your limbs soften and you could almost hear him smirk into the distance, "This is cheating..."

"You think so?" He comments as if pledging innocence, "I don't know babe. Where I come from those who take the initiative are the ones who end up claiming the prize," pulling back, Childe takes the opportunity to observe your pouty face, "I don't make the rules. It's just how it goes."

You wanted to argue back but he suddenly took the bedsheets and covered both of your bodies with, completely trapping you with his presence. He snuggles into you further as if you were a bear made of linen and you felt the drowsiness taking over your mind. The way he gently pats down the back of your head was enough to instantly lull you into a deep sleep.

"Cheater," you mumbled.

He laughs softly, the rumbles emitting through his chest, "I love you too babe."

Even after you've let go of your resistance, Childe continues his actions until he was sure that you were resting. He had been longing to touch you like this since living a chaotic life only made peaceful moments much sweeter, "You're such a hard-worker you know that? I'm proud of you but you have to know when to call it a day," he whispers, "If not, how can I go on trips while knowing that you're still refusing to eat properly?"

You closed your eyes and said nothing in return. All your senses were too cloudy to come up with a reassuring response. Childe listens to the way your breath evens as you intake his scent during the process. It smelled like the soap you used in the showers, lotus leaves mixed with his own unique musk. You could only focus on him. His comforting embrace. His slightly accelerating heartbeat because you were together with him.

Letting out one final yawn, you succumbed to his spell and allowed your energy to drift away.

The corners of his lips tug upwards, "Sleep well princess."

Childe reaches over to your desk drawer and shuts off the alarm clock before turning over to face you again. He couldn't fall asleep immediately, not when he had to consider taking care of the commissioner who gave you an impossible deadline. But that will be saved for another day, for now, he observes in silent serenity.

If he were to quit his job for a year, what would his life be like?

Peaceful. Something opposite of what he was living right now. Something similar to the life he had back home. As you arrange the many paintings in your little home, he'll offer to help you among the places you couldn't reach. Without a doubt, Childe was far taller in comparison. Taking strolls into the streets and trying the new dishes the merchants came up with. Then in the evenings, you'll both go to dinner dates while listening to the storyteller revealing the rumours of the legendary Tianquan Qixing. Although Childe loved the adventurous life he led, he had to admit that your domesticity and family-bringing atmosphere was a tempting idea.

Maybe one day.

He lightly takes a strand that had fallen over your nose and tucked it smoothly behind your ear. The soft snores coming out of your parted lips caused his gaze to melt. And so he steals them with his own, placing a chaste goodnight kiss.

One day I'll be sure to bring my family here with us.

Closing his eyes, he joins you in your slumber, hoping to see all that he envisioned in his dreams.

#genshin impact #childe x reader #childe genshin impact #genshin childe #childe #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia #genshin impact childe #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

Saph I hope you feel better! I really liked the VM Snow White you just posted, but could you also please do the same prompt but with M9 boys including Molly? If you’re not feeling up to it that’s fine too!

Thank you! The meds are beginning to do their job luckily. I'm glad you liked the last one. I blinked, my hand slipped and now it's here. Prepare for some angst. Hope you enjoy! 😘

(Caleb)

Caleb had always known his past would come to haunt him. He was prepared for it. Prepared to take the hit, take responsibility for everything and he’d face his past be that with or without the people he loves. Part of him, once he got used to having these fools around, having you around, wanted it to be on his own, to protect them and protect you. To not have any more lives lost in the grand scheme. The people he loves becoming collateral would be unacceptable. But you had become collateral in the grand scheme of things.

When it became clear to his enemies he was a bit more attached to you than the others, they took this weakness and exploited it. They pushed his buttons before, using you as a tool, verbal bait even, but he never fell for it. His reluctancy to act on his feelings, to keep them to himself instead, were the very thing he hoped would keep those loose ends from latching onto you. His love is a curse, the objects of his desire always to be torn away from him no matter how hard he tries to prevent it. He’s lost you to that same curse. Not lost. Almost lost.

You’ve been cursed, your conscious mind separated from your unconscious body. Simple healing spells wouldn’t do the trick here. This curse holds no roots in the divine. He’s spent days researching and that much he could confirm. This curse would take an arcane approach. Something he prides himself in to be his specialty. Lucky you. Lucky him. He had the others bring all books, ancient scrolls and other sources of knowledge brought to him, along with a wide variety of components once he’d made a significant dent in the research matter, assuring him this would have the greatest chances of success.

It’s not the soft canopy bed with the plush pillows from the fairytales you’re placed on. Instead you lay on a wooden table, inscribed with all sorts of arcane sigils. Nor do you look like some angelic peaceful being. Your brow is furrowed in discomfort, your hands balled into fists at your sides. Caleb moves a brush against areas of exposed skin, painting symbols to match with precision and care, afraid to even make a single mistake, triple checking every mark. He speaks the incantations while incorporating the components varying from precious gems crushed and whole, herbs and incense. And then he waits. He doesn’t expect the effects to be immediate, often with these magics it is not and he knows that but that doesn’t get rid of the impatience and fear.

“How I long to hear your voice again. I know this will work but that doesn’t ease away the sliver of doubt. What if… What if… That’s what I keep asking myself. I know it’s stupid.” Caleb wipes an hand over his brow as he pulls up a chair and sits at your side, elbows leaning on the table careful to avoid any sigils just in case.

“It also faced me with the harsh reality that I held off telling you how I feel. It looks so stupid now in hindsight because what good did it do anyone. In the end you still ended up paying for my mistakes. I was stupid to push you away, try to convince you your own feelings were unreciprocated. I know I didn’t have you fooled in the slightest but to know I could have loved you, it makes me feel like I am to blame for wasting that opportunity and possibly shortening our time together. The thought of losing you before having given you my love will forever be my greatest regret.”

Caleb watches the muscle of your hand unclench and relax. He hears a deep intake of breath and staring at your face he’s met with your smile, one filled with love as he helps you sit up. All is good once more.

(Fjord)

Fjord’s drenched to the bone, out of breath, anger running through him like he’s never experienced. Still he’s unsure if his anger is directed at the one responsible for your eternal slumber or at himself for making a ballsy move that didn’t pay off in the slightest and in fact backfired in a worse way he could have ever imagined. He played a game of chicken with Uk’otoa and lost. He’d have been fine by letting someone else pay the price for him. Why should he care about some stranger becoming victim to the leviathan? The one who paid the price, became the victim to his actions didn’t end up being a stranger. It had to be you of all people hadn’t it?

Uk’otoa must have been watching his dreams, even his waking actions if that were possible and have seen his infatuation with you. When the leviathan threatened Fjord in another briny dream of his mentioning your name he had called bullshit. The snake had never been able to reach out to anyone it didn’t already have some kind of grasp on. Little did he know Uk’otoa had just that. Just enough of a sliver through him, and the Cloven Crystal to get to you.

So there Fjord sits at your bedside. You’re just as drenched as he is, hair dripping, skin glowing in the candle light of the room reflected off the water particles. Your lips are tinted blue, a redness around your eyes, your skin is cold. The sleep you’re in is a state of perpetual drowning and Fjord knows what it feels like, to drown. He can only hope you’re spared that pain. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to forgive himself if you are tortured like so because of his actions. Clasping your hand between both of his he runs his fingers over your knuckles. He bows his head. It still feels so wrong to not have you respond to his touch. So wrong.

“I want you to know that I am to blame for your fate. I’m about to do a very stupid thing to make it right. I know you’d tell me not to but I can’t sit by and watch you suffer like this. I’ve tried everything. I’ve begged and bargained. I’ve shouted at the skies but I got no reply. Everything comes up empty and I see no other choice than to do this. It might sound stupid but I came to ask for your forgiveness.” Fjord pauses. Usually he would have gotten a reply. He would sell his soul for just having you tell him everything will be alright. It’s a good thing he’s about to sell it for so much more than that. It’s worth it. It’s worth having you alive and well.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness for what I’m about to do because I will never regret it. I ask only you may one day forgive me for what I might become. I need you to know I love you and did, will do all of this out of love. That’s why I hope you’ll never see me again after I give myself to Uk’otoa. I can’t bare to watch that affection in your eyes being replaced by hatred, but most of all disappointment. I hoped to be worthy of your love and I will always regret never having truly experienced it.” Fjord’s voice cracks slightly. He studies your face, as if to ingrain every detail into his memory, as if he thinks he might never see it again.

“I’m afraid. I’m so deadly afraid.” Fjord whimpers pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before he lets go. He checks his supplies, taking out the Cloven Crystal, glaring at the orb intensely cursing the thing to oblivion. Coughs pull him out of his staring match with the crystal. Your body moves, leaning over the edge of the bed vomiting up brine. Fjord drops the orb and his belongings running over to you and helping you gather your bearings until you’re no longer chocking on sea water.

“You better not do what I think you’re planning with that orb or so help me Storm Lord, I will drown you myself.” Fjord can’t do anything but laugh despite the very real threat on his life as you pull him into your embrace.

(Caduceus)

Caduceus isn’t bothered by death. Death is part of life as much as living is. It’s inevitable. Every soul will move on, leaving its vessel for the earth, the fire or the wild things to bring forth something new. What does very much bother him are perversions of death, those who try to cheat death, upset the natural balance, maim and manipulate that what is and should be. He hates it with a passion and seeks to rectify it, return the world to that balance when faced with it. That’s where you come in. You much like him have a respect and understanding of life and death similar to his own. Very few people understand that. Very few people do not fear the end when they see it coming. You’re one of those very few people.

You understand Caduceus on a different level, in his sentiment and mannerisms while others may think him strange. Not that he cares if people do, you’ve been his filter in the big shiny new world past the borders of his grove. You’ve been his safety net, his grounding force, his safe haven when the world seems against him and he thinks his senses might be wrong. The Wild Mother must have gently blown her winds to bring you together.

That’s why it seems so wrong you’re affected by this darkness having taken hold over your body, leaving you in a state of not entirely alive nor dead. Resurrection has been futile as much as draining your life and allowing you to move to the care of the Wild Mother herself. You’re trapped and that’s why Caduceus fears what would happen should you die. He’s seen what this perversion of life and death has done to his home, the forests surrounding it and the creatures living in it. He’ll do everything in his power to prevent that from happening to you.

Caduceus has put your body through the typical burial rites and rituals, preserving what he can by using wards and the divine blessings granted to him by his goddess, sending her prayers of your recovery but you appear to be even beyond her reach now. He moves a damp cloth across your arms and face, brushing aside your hair, humming to himself until he’s done, moving on to clean the room around you, getting rid of the dust, placing things back where they belong and replacing the decayed flowers with fresh ones. Caduceus gathers his tea, preparing a cup for himself as he watches you.

“Can you show me how they’re doing?” The wind grows cold. He knew that would be the answer but still he could hope maybe that answer could change.

“Are they in pain?” The wind grows warm but then cold again. You were, but not anymore. It seems that the new wards he’s put up are doing their job. That’s good.

“Is there a cure?” The gentle breeze disappears. She doesn’t know then. This goes even beyond the goddess herself but it doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Caduceus will keep hope, though it is dwindling fast, for your sake he’ll have hope. He’s always spoken to the dead before and while you’re not really dead, there’s a strange comfort to something that feels so final.

“Hey. I’d ask you how you’re doing but that’s not gonna work now, is it? Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine. I know you are. You’ve managed to keep me alive with the others for much longer than I’ve been taking care of you like this. I think we’re going to be fine. I know you’re here but I still miss you. Calliope makes for terrible company watching things unfurl between the others. She’s too much of a hopeless romantic. You forgot to tell me the recipe to that special brew of yours. I’ve been trying to recreate it but I haven’t been able to. I think what I’m trying to say is, I could really do with having my best friend back. That’d be nice.”

Caduceus sips his tea, face devoid of his usual dopy smile. A sudden breeze hits through the window, blowing it open. A few lighter weight and loose items go flying but the thud of a heavier one is clear to hear. Caduceus closes the window and feels something solid hit his boot. It’s a crystal from the ones surrounding the grove. He picks it up, feeling the warmth run through it. The breeze directs towards you and he feels himself walking over to your body. The crystal calls to you and when it touches you your body runs with energy, pulsing, like you’ve been forcibly pulled back to this world. You look around eyes wide breathing heavy.

“Hey.” Caduceus smiles. “I made tea.”

(Mollymauk)

Maybe pretending you and him were some high born assholes was a questionable decision. Taking on an invite directed at the said people you were impersonating even more so, and stealing, sorry, borrowing without asking, some things from their summer cottage to swim in luxuries, an out right terrible idea when these people happen to be very well connected.

So when these fancy folk came back to the cottage earlier than expected, the two of you had grabbed what you could before making your grand escape, chased by their private guards until you lost them. A safe distance away you set up camp. Time to inspect your findings before returning to the carnival. Your eye for valuables had always been much more keen than Molly’s and your appraisals usually spot on. It was only natural he would let you do your thing but he’d still help you.

Particularly proud of getting some ornate jewellery box Molly had pried it open and revealed the jackpot. But of course you couldn’t just sell recognisable jewellery as is and you couldn’t keep such a thing on you very long. So of course you went to work, prying the stones from their settings. A particular necklace was giving you trouble, not even your tools being able to pry it out, you even broke one so you left that one for last.

The two of you had argued, eventually setting on just smashing the stone with the pommel of Molly’s scimitar, the broken gem still providing plenty of pay and not being as recognisable in peaces. So you held the necklace across a stone while he smashed it. When it did a spark hit, next thing he knew you were on the ground, your hands burned where you held the precious metal. At first he thought you were simply knocked out but when you didn't wake up he grew worried. Splashing water in your face, shaking you, lifting your legs, nothing got you to wake up so instead he carried you and the jewellery back to the carnival. Two days and still you didn’t wake up. It became clear this bloody gem was cursed when dark veins started crawling up your skin as the days passed.

Since this was technically on him, Molly took care of you. He makes quite a doting nurse when he wants to be but never without an inappropriate comment or two. It was quite strange to not hear you laugh at or scold him for these comments. Nevertheless he’d fluff up the pillow beneath your head, provide you an extra blanket when the night was cold, tell you stories, or simply the events of the day, the people who came to the carnival, some things he lifted from people’s pockets and so on. Molly has to say he’s ashamed to admit he’d got frustrated with your unresponsiveness or rather the fact you still hadn’t woken up and there was nothing the others could do for you. A healer would still be a week or so out.

“You know, while I’ve really begun getting used to these little one-sided conversations and your lack of judgement at some of my more terrible decisions I really prefer sharing them with you in the moment. I’ve gotten caught by the guards twice now and without you, Gustav is getting a bit sick of bailing me out. I miss our little flirtations. I miss your sometimes wrong opinions, though you’d say they’re proven facts. I miss your company. I think our time apart has given me time to reflect how much you truly mean to me and how much I need you in my life.” Molly leans on his elbow as he studies your face unmoving. You look so peaceful and asleep but he’d much rather get lost in your eyes when you’re awake.

“I laughed at you when you told me the most valuable thing in the world anyone could ever give another is their heart but I think I know what that means now. I’ll offer you mine if you will have it. So please, come back and make sure my head doesn’t get up too high into the clouds or I might just float away.” Molly leans back looking at the ceiling of the tent with a sigh. He’s pulled out of his mind by a snicker.

“A dramatic confession of love to the unconscious target of your affections? And you call me cliche.” Molly looks at your face, eyes still closed but smug grin clear on your face. He pokes your side making you jump.

“You are insufferable.”

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #caleb widogast x reader #caleb x reader #fjord x reader #caduceus x reader #mollymauk x reader #critical role #mighty nein

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slipper007 · 3 years

Text

I can't imagine the pain.

Word Count: 3,262

TW: child loss, grief and grieving, discussion of death. See AO3 for complete tags.

Special thanks to @angelfishofthelord and @shirtlesscastiel who both asked for a part 2, as well as @featherasscas , who's reblogged part 1 more times than I can count

Companion to this, + also on AO3. [Masterpost]

Castiel stayed on the ground, broken, for what felt like hours, lacking the strength to look away from the devastation of his grief.

He stayed there so long that the Winchesters gave up hope. They mumbled something about Chuck and the end of all things, of the ghosts that Cas’ total grief had obliterated and how they might not have been all that was released. Castiel didn’t care. He didn’t have it in him to, and maybe the Winchesters saw that. Dean tried to touch his shoulder, maybe even offer an apology, but Castiel shot him a look that ended the conversation they had been dancing around for years. They left him in that graveyard with what was left of his son.

He almost prayed, but what could an angel do to reverse God’s will? No, he needed to do something else. He was desperate enough to try anything he thought would work.

Bargaining. Maybe he could strike up another deal. Whatever the price was, he would pay it happily. He would give his life in a heartbeat, just like before, if it would bring Jack back.

He reached out to Death directly.

He felt Billie’s presence before he saw them and slowly turned as they offered a laid back “Hey.”

“Bring him back.”

“Can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both,” Billie replied. They raised a brow as Castiel drew his blade. “Killing me again? That seems a little redundant.”

“If you won’t bring him back then maybe your replacement will.”

“Everything has its time, Castiel and everything dies.”

“And it wasn’t his time! His story isn’t done!”

“God said otherwise.”

“You’re going to let God do your job? Kill Jack and wreck the order?”

“God isn’t wrecking anything. Every story has different endings. This was one.”

“Then change it.”

“It’s already happened. It can’t be undone.” Billie’s voice was gentler than Castiel expected when they continued. “It’s not fair, or kind, or right, but it’s life. You need to make your peace with that.”

“No.” Billie’s brows drew together and if Castiel didn’t know better, he would think that it was from pity. Even as he spoke, he felt the tip of his angel blade drop. “I can’t accept this, he can’t be...”

“He is. And nothing you do will change that, regardless of what your time with the Winchesters has taught you.”

Castiel felt the lurching ill sensation rise up again.

“What if I go to the Empty directly?”

“Then you die. It keeps both you and Jack. But you know how the Empty works.”

“I still won’t get to see him...say anything...”

Billie touched his shoulder, a rare gesture of remorse from Death incarcerate. “He’s gone, Castiel, but he can live on in you.”

Castiel didn’t answer, and Death left him to grieve.

Even as time ticked by, Castiel was at a loss for what to do. In the dust, he drew the Enochian sigil to create a portal to Heaven, paid it enough attention that for a moment he could pretend Jack was sitting in the truck playing on his phone.

Castiel almost called his brothers and sisters down to open the portal, to take both Jack and him from the Earth, to let them rest for the first time in years. He wanted Jack to know the peace that used to exist in Heaven, the safety of the place he had once called home. More than that, he wanted to be at peace, to quell the anguish and anger writhing in his chest. It would be easier to go back to proper angelhood, forget what it was to feel.

Emotions had never brought him anything but trouble. They’d lost him his family, his home, his friends, his life…

Still, his tongue wouldn’t speak the words to bring his siblings down. He remembered how they’d treated Jack, and him. The angels had manipulated Jack just as the Winchesters had, and they would do so again if given the chance.

Even dead, Jack could still be used as a weapon. His body harbored the remains of not only nephil grace, but also that of the archangel Michael. Those were both cosmic; they would endure longer than his body.

As much as it sickened him, Castiel realized a hard truth.

Not only was Jack unable to come back, but it wasn’t enough to simply lay him to rest. His body needed to be destroyed so completely that he could never be manipulated again.

He only knew one person he could even start to trust with something like that.

“Hello, tweetie pie,” Rowena answered. “Is this a social call?”

“No, I need your help.”

“Now as much as I’d like to, I’m busy. Tell the Winchesters—”

“This isn’t for them,” he said, words coming out harsher than intended. He took a breath and added a gentler, “Please, this is important.”

“More important than—”

“Yes. Can you meet me at...” Castiel faltered. The Bunker wasn’t an option, and he certainly wasn’t going to stay where he was, surrounded by death, destruction, and his son’s wings scorched into the earth. “Uh…”

“I’ll need some time to tie things up in Nevada. Could you perhaps meet me halfway?

“Yes.” Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. “In Colorado? Grand Junction?”

“Alright,” Rowena agreed. “Now tell me what it is you need so I can prepare.”

“I need you to help me burn a body.” He risked a glance to Jack, feeling bile rise up. “So completely that he can’t come back.”

“Dearie—”

“I can’t talk more; I’ll see you tomorrow,” Castiel blurted, hanging up before what little control he had over his emotions could slip.

The drive was even harder than watching him die.

He talked and played music, anything to avoid the screaming silence, the way Jack was growing cold and stiff beside him. It didn’t work. His mind still repeated the horrified knowledge of “this was your child,” a broken record he feared would never stop.

Neither of them would recover from this.

He arrived after Rowena and nearly cried as she offered him a smile in her prim and proper way and asked if Jack would be joining them or staying in the car.

He didn’t know what gave it away. The unnatural stillness and silence of the car, one that he’d grappled with for hundreds of miles, perhaps. Maybe it was a witch’s intuition, since she’d seen enough over the last several hundred years. Maybe it was because he couldn’t answer her, or even look her in the eyes.

“Oh,” was all she said before embracing him. He couldn’t return it. He couldn’t tear his mind from the hug he had given Jack in the graveyard, how he hadn’t hugged back, how he’d kneeled rather than fight, and how he’d died even when Dean couldn’t go through with it. How it felt to hold Jack, limp and soundless in his arms.

The dam broke, and all that pain and grief and anger nearly brought him to his knees.

Rowena saw it: how broken he was, how broken he’d always been. He didn’t know who he was anymore if he wasn’t a father or an angel, yet he was neither anymore. What was he supposed to do now?

Maybe she understood that. She had suffered the loss of a loved one, too. She knew what it was to watch the world die around her, to lose herself for a time.

When Castiel was able to collect himself, pull the broken shards of his being back together, Rowena asked something that almost tore him apart again.

“Dearie, are you sure you want to…”

“I can’t bring him back. I talked to Death, and I can’t bring him back,” Castiel said softly. “I can’t have someone take advantage of what’s… left.”

“But something so permanent…”

“I would do it myself,” he offered, “but I seem to have fallen.”

Rowena gave him a strange look, the likes of which he hadn’t received in years, so he explained.

“I felt it. Something in me breaking. The emotion growing stronger. I don’t know how to describe it… It felt like when the angels fell. The same kind of desperation.”

“My dear, you’re still an angel. You still have your powers.” She looked him up and down. “Maybe you’re not as powerful as you once were, and you’re a smidge weaker than last we saw each other, but you’re far from powerless.”

Castiel looked away, lost.

“Maybe you can’t do it because you don’t want to,” she offered gently.

“What I want is for him to come back. But he needs to be….” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Rowena nodded, understanding.

They found somewhere private, somewhere quiet outside the city. The trees stood tall and proud and vibrantly alive. A felled one became the pyre.

Castiel placed Jack on it, still wrapped in the trenchcoat.

The flames that swallowed him were brilliantly red, orange, and gold like the ochre rocks on the horizon.

It took hours, even with the help of magic. Castiel stood by Jack’s side for all of it, even long after the embers had cooled and all that was left was a small pile of ash and smudges of soot. Rowena collected it up in a jar as the sun rose, and Castiel took it in his hands.

It never should have ended like this.

The day carried on as if Castiel’s world hadn’t ended hours ago. He was grateful to Rowena for what she had done, but even sitting in her kitchen he was too lost in grief to thank her.

Standing by a whistling teapot, she finally asked, “Would you like to talk about the wee boy?”

“It hurts too much.” Castiel bit into his lip, hard. What did it say about him, that he could hardly even say Jack’s name? Shame bubbled up, hatred of himself swift to follow.

“It hurts because of how much you loved him.”

“I still love him.”

“Yes.”

The pair fell silent for a long while and Rowena set a cup of hot tea in front of Cas before settling into her own seat.

“Rowena…”

“Yes, tweetie pie?”

“When did losing Oscar stop hurting?”

Rowena bowed her head, and Castiel knew the answer.

“It didn’t,” she finally said. “Just as losing Fergus hasn’t stopped hurting.”

Castiel’s instinct was right. This was something he would never recover from, would he?

“It’s a different kind of hurt, with time,” Rowena offered. “It stops being so keen. You survive and you try to carry on without them, because that’s what they would have wanted.” She stared deep into her tea. “You learn to talk about them, and to them, even though they’re gone.”

Castiel nodded and held his tea closer. He couldn’t see that happening, not with how much it hurt, but she was right: he would survive. With Jack gone, his deal would never come due. Happiness wouldn’t kill him because he would never feel it again.

Rowena offered him a place to stay for a few weeks, but Castiel declined. He couldn’t stay there, not where the earth was scorched and the air still smelled faintly of smoke. Instead, Castiel drove for hours, not paying much attention to where he was going until he found himself parked outside of the Bunker.

It wasn’t where he wanted to be, not by a longshot, but he had something he needed to do. The door creaked as loudly as it always had, and Castiel was halfway across the library before a voice called out to him.

“Cas.”

Dean.

“I’m here for his things. Then I’ll be on my way.”

“Cas, hey. Stop for a moment, would you?”

Castiel did.

“Look, alright.” Dean walked over until they could look each other in the eye. “I’m not proud of how everything went down. And I’ve given what you said some thought. You’re right. It is our fault, but it’s Chuck’s, too, man. You gotta see that.”

“What I see is that you’re finding any excuse you can to get the blame off yourself.”

Dean’s eyes darkened.

“Chuck has been toying with us—”

“No, you made the decision to kill him, just as I made the decision not to. You told me to get onboard or walk away, and I left you and Chuck both of my own choice. Because you taught me that people and families and love are worth fighting for, and I was going to fight for him!” Castiel tried to keep the waver out of his voice as tears brimmed in his eyes. “Chuck couldn’t have changed that even if he’d tried.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to, huh? You think of that? Maybe he wants us divided.”

“You should have thought about that before you tried to execute him in front of me.”

“Cas—”

“You had a choice and you made the wrong one.”

Castiel left him there in the library and locked himself in Jack’s room. Almost instantly, it proved to be too much, and he slumped down against the door, sobbing.

The room was holding its breath, waiting for Jack to come home. A half-read book sat on the desk, a few stray papers underneath. A pile of clothes waited patiently to be returned to a drawer. The nightstand was bare save for a pencil. One good deed….

Castiel packed it all away. He hated himself for destroying the illusion, for leaving the room as empty as his chest felt, but what he was waiting for would never happen. Jack would never walk through that door again. The decoder ring in the drawer would never be used. Everything had fallen into ruin.

He managed to get the first box into his truck with no issues, no run-ins or confrontations. The second box was smaller, and he rested it on a hip as he closed the bedroom door for the last time.

This time, he wasn’t so lucky. Dean watched him cross the room and quietly said, “You’re not the only one grieving him.”

“It’s not the same, Dean. You never felt his soul. You never took the time to know him: you spent your time trying to make up for wanting him dead. Well, you got what you wanted.”

Dean flinched at that, but Castiel didn’t care. His son was nothing but ash and a box and a half of belongings. Anger flared again.

“You think angels can’t feel.” He laughed bitterly. “Even though I’ve proven that wrong. Did you think killing him wouldn’t kill me, too? As if I haven’t given more for him than you could possibly imagine. As much as you’ve given for Sam. My life. My happiness… I signed away my future in a heartbeat so that he could come back and I would do it again. I tried to do it again.”

If only it would have worked.

“Wait, what?”

“I made a deal to save him. When I’m happy, the Empty will take me forever.”

Dean gaped at him in horror.

“Cas, what’ve you done?”

“What I had to. What any father would do. Don’t give me that look. You’ve done worse for Sam.”

“And it’s always come back to bite me in the ass.”

“Well, I haven’t been happy in years, so don’t worry about the deal.”

“You shouldn’t have made it in the first place.”

“Oh, so now only you get to make deals to save the people you love? Only you get to cheat death time and time again while the rest of us suffer?” Castiel looked at him incredulously, anger seeping through him. “Do you know how many brothers I’ve lost? Sisters? Friends? Now Jack. Why can’t I save them? Why should they stay dead when you and your brother have been raised so many times?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. We would have figured it out without making the deal!”

“We didn’t have the time! If I hadn’t made the deal I would have lost him forever, right then and there. I couldn’t stand by and watch him die!”

It would have killed him. And it had.

“We would have figured it out,” Dean maintained. “Like we always do!”

Castiel shook his head. “Then you figure it out. If you bring him back, I’ll be back, but until then…” Castiel looked around the wide expanse of the Bunker with a strange longing. This had never been home, but it could have been, just as his friendship with the Winchesters could have been more. He was leaving behind an almost.

“Jack’s dead. Chuck’s gone. You and Sam have each other. I think it’s time for me to move on.”

“Cas, wait.”

As angry and tired as he was—as they both were—Castiel wanted to. A decade of comradeship, of camaraderie and pining, did that, made him reluctant to leave. Then he remembered standing between Dean and Jack, realizing that if that gun went off, he’d lose them both. He knew now that he’d lost them both long before that.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

It was years before they saw each other again.

It took longer than Castiel could ever admit to find peace.

He still ached for Jack to come back, felt the pain in every drawn breath, but Rowena was right. Billie was right. The anger lessened and the pain dulled. He missed his son but Jack would have wanted him to try to move on. He would have wanted Cas to be happy, despite the deal still hanging over his head even if Castiel couldn’t see it ever coming to fruition now. He owed it to Jack to try to be happy.

And he would. He had to. No matter how much it hurt, even if he still wanted nothing more than to bring him back or follow him in death. Jack survived through him, in his memories and his love. He couldn’t let what was left of his son go like that.

He’d moved to Washington, made a home of where Jack had been born and Kelly had died. Where he had burned. It was a little too empty, full of broken promises and loss and regret, as if it, too, struggled to let go. One day it would. Another family would come and clean it out, fill this home with love as it always should have been. Children would run out to the sand, oblivious of the ash mixed in, while their parents painted over Kelly’s mural and took down the pale yellow curtains that had reminded Cas of honey.

One day, all memory of Jack and the world his parents had tried to give him would be gone. But it wouldn’t be today.

Castiel made his way outside, stood where the rift had first appeared. If he looked closely, he could still see the imprint of wings in the earth. This was where he and Kelly had both burned.

Cautiously, Castiel looked to the sky, the twinkling lights of stars against an unpolluted sky. Jack loved space. He would have loved it here, able to see the stars every night without fail.

It was time to let go.

Gently, Castiel let the ash catch in the breeze, wander everywhere it liked and more until it was gone. Jack was gone.

Castiel swallowed hard and tilted his head back up to the sky, to the light of a thousand stars. If he looked hard enough, he could see the golden twinkle of Jack’s grace reflecting back, his eyes glowing against a sea of blue.

“Hello, Jack.”

195 notes · View notes

julesapprentice · 3 years

Text

Mc giving the Devoraks a magic lesson:

Julian:

It's no secret that when you met Julian he was highly uncomfortable with the idea of magic and always had been

He simply can't make sense of it, julian is at his heart a scientist and a man of logic (most of the time) and so he struggles to wrap his head around the abstract and illogical nature of magic

But, and this is important, Julian certainly warms up to magic during his time with you and becomes more comfortable with the presence of magic thanks to you (let's not forget his magic lesson in the tower realm) he's no magician but you can ceryainly try to make one out of him

He's not gonna want to start out with anything too big, he's all for dramatics but he's never done this before and is more scared of things going wrong and injuring you.

Julian needs you to explain the theory of magic too him because he will experiment with anything but this. He wants to know how and why this magic works and what makes it all possible.

Start out simple and for the love of gods do not touch potion magic. Julian is no chef and he would not do well in front of a cauldron. You might be able to talk him into after a bit if you really want him to but he's gonna be put off until you explain that eye of newt is not literal.

A good place to start might be sigils and protective charms, it leaves room to explain how and why they work and also with how clumsy he is and how much trouble he gets into Vesuvia will thank you. Bonus points for being able to turn the charms into some sick jewellery he can show off.

Overall he'd try anything for you including magic and who knows, practice enough with him and he might become a bit of a majulian- magician himself.

Portia:

Absolutely so excited

Is the magician of the family

She's probably been the one begging for you to teach her some magic

She will try and jump headfirst into things

Bring her back to earth and she will listen to what you have to say very intently although that's not to say she won't want to cause (harmless) trouble

Portia would be on board with anything you suggested she's such the opposite of her brother in this regard

Kitchen magic is probably the way to go with her, Portia is already fascinated with Mazelinka's magical touch in the kitchen so it's no surprise she's interested

Portia likes to cook and she's good at it too so this is where she's most familiar

I think she'd like the idea of potions and practical magic as well, things that make her life a little bit easier

Give her a spell to get all the cat hair of her clothes and she'll marry you again

#asra the magician #asra alzanar #muriel of the kokhuri #muriel the arcana #asra alnazar #count lucio #muriel #the arcana game #portia devorak #nadia satrinava #Julian devorak #Julian x mc #Portia x mc #Julian x apprentice #Portia x apprentice #Julian headcanons #Portia headcanons

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

Text

Searching for Hidden Things (Ticci Toby X F!Reader)

Searching for Hidden Things

[Ticci Toby X F!Reader]

[Warnings: it's kinda sad? Language, blood but only slight.]

[AN: Another good one from Eris]

You are convinced that your home is haunted now more than ever. While you are not particularly ghost believer inclined, as a witch, your mind is open to these kinds of happenings but that’s not your field of study - you’re much more inclined to herbology and green witchery as opposed to medium and seership into other planes of existence. The natural, real world is what you are focused on. Not some spectre that happens to like little knickknacks that you don’t even claim ownership to.

How on earth did you end up here?

Simple. Fresh out of college and working from home, you decided to leave your stuffy city and come out to the countryside to get back into nature. It took forever to find a place that piqued your interest, but a small town smack dab in the middle of Alabama. You’re almost dead certain there’s barely five thousand people in the area. Though, you hardly stick around long enough to find out.

You only dip into town in the evenings and get the groceries that you can’t grow. Let’s just say you really enjoy living off the land and that practice helps you further your own craft. It’s anything a hedgewitch might dream of. The people that live here are pleasant, but they’re silent.

It was a normal evening visiting your favorite curiosity and occult shop run by a sweet girl and her partner who have come to expect you weekly on Saturdays. You usually stay for tea and a cupcake or whatever baked good Zinnia and Briar have set up for you, and it is from one of these little sit downs that you found out your home isn’t exactly normal.

“It’s so nice to see you again, love bug!” Briar smiles widely, their arms opening to greet you.

You smile back and walk into their arms and hug back just as tightly. “I could never miss tea time with my two favorite curio owners,” you chuckle.

Zinnia pops out from the back, her hands are covered by oven mitts. “I just made some brownies! Also have some angel food cake from last night. Come, come. Briar? Get the tea,” she says as she rushes to the back to set up the table in the sunroom.

Briar nods and puts their hand on your upper back, guiding you to the back. “My wife thought you would’ve liked the angel food cake. She’s been talking about it all night,” they explain, a giggle on their lips.

Zinnia is buzzing around like a bumble bee while her partner attempts to get her to sit down. She’s a good host, you’ll give her that. This is your fourth sit down with them and she’s like this every time.

“Reader isn’t going to care about the plates-” Briar attempts to say before getting shushed by Zinnia.

“I like being aesthetically pleasing,” she says as Briar absentmindedly ties her curly black hair into a ponytail. “Unlike you,” she giggles.

You roll your eyes playfully at their sweet gestures. “Aesthetically pleasing or not, those brownies and the cake look delicious.”

“See? Reader gets it,” Briar lightly ribs before bringing the tea to the table, Zinnia following close behind them with platters and plates. “So,” Briar hums. “How is your place?”

You begin pouring yourself some tea and shrug. “I don’t think I ever mentioned it to you, have I?”

The couple shake their heads as they get comfortable in their seats. “Where have you put your boots down?” Zinnia inquires.

“There’s this little house in the woods,” you begin to explain before sipping at your tea. “Had a great garden and was already furnished, asked the realtor and she practically threw it into my arms.” You put down your tea cup and cut a brownie for yourself before raising a brow at the couple’s shocked and slightly confused expressions. “What’s wrong?”

Briar blinks a few times before shaking their head. “It’s nothing! Just, it’s the house in the woods?”

You nod in confirmation. “The house in the west woods, near the pond with water lilies?” You continue in an attempt to further their understanding, getting the feeling there’s something you don’t know but should. “Guys..?”

“S-Sorry,” Zinnia suddenly says. “It’s just that…” Her eyes shift around for a few moments before she leans in close, as if she was telling you a secret. “That house is haunted.”

Your eyes go wide before you laugh. You laugh and laugh and then when you realize they’re silent, you blink. “Wait what? Why do you say that?”

“Someone used to live there a few years ago, we moved in after her… disappearance,” Briar explains. “She just,” Briar makes a poof shape with their hands, “like nothing. No trace, no leads, the house was empty but everything of theirs? Still there.”

“Who was the person that lived there before?” You ask, intrigue kicking up before you bite into the brownies and then try the angel food cake. Zinnia was right, you do like it.

Briar shrugs, “we don’t know. Whispers say it was the girl named Natalie. She kept to herself but from the people I’ve talked to so far - at least, those who would talk about it - said she was sweet and spunky.”

“Guy at the grocery store, Mr. Wu? He said that Natalie was his regular. They were friends,” Zinnia adds on. “He used to visit her house every now and then and said near the end, her behavior got kind of squirrely. One night, he went to visit her and saw her running. Of course, guy is like seventy, got scared and ran back home. Called the police over it. They got there? Nothing.”

You nod as you listen to them give out their theories on what might have happened to Natalie. It’s one of the most interesting things you’ve heard of since you moved in.

When you returned home, you couldn’t help but shake the thought you were a guest in what used to be Natalie’s home. Your hands flew over the slightly dusty shelves and found it wrong to really touch anything that might not be yours. There’s books about boring things, encyclopedias, general knowledge, young adult fiction, but nothing that tells you who she was.

As you stand with your arms crossed in your living room, you search for the things that were left from her. Your room is entirely yours, you’ve already managed to find a room and clear it out for your witchy things, the kitchen was empty and there is no basement. This house is small, more like a cottage. If there were any signs of who she was, they’re not easy at making themselves known.

All you have to go off of from her is the living room and is undoubtedly Natalie’s and not yours. The shelves and other knick knacks are things that don’t match your aesthetic at all. Seems she was fond of the color green, just not plants like you are.

It’s by the living room that you’re able to learn some things about Natalie, even if they’re minute. For instance, you can tell that either she likes costumes or she’s missing an eye due to a small box of eyepatches varying in color and design. She’s got a frew petal pressed flowers - tulips - and last you checked, that meant a declaration of love according to the standard Victorian language of flowers.

You know absolutely nothing about Natalie other than her name and that she may be missing an eye and that she has tulips, but she permeates your mind like a virus that refuses to go away. You’re entranced with her, and want to know more of her.

When you work on sigils, you make one for her and put it in the corners of the front windows and in the doorframe. You wonder if she’s out there, and if she is, if she’s safe. If she is, you hope the runes and sigils you’ve made for her will keep her that way.

One evening at the grocery store, you have the privilege of being able to speak to Mr. Wu when ringing up some craving you’ll know you’ll inevitably have.

“Natalie?” He hums as he rings up your items. “She was a nice girl,” he continues. “Very kind, had a good sense of humor.”

You furrow your brows and smile sympathetically at him. “I’m sorry for-”

“It’s no matter,” Mr. Wu brushes off. “I don’t know what happened to her, and I’d like to think she’s still out there,” he begins checking the register for the total. “I’d like to think that when she was running, it was towards better and away from whatever it was she couldn’t get here..” His old, weathered hand reaches out to show you the total on the screen. You notice he’s put on a 50% discount. “On me,” he smiles.

Ever since then, Natalie has consumed your thoughts entirely.

So, how does this all tie into a little sparrow figurine going missing? You think it’s haunted. Genuinely. Have you angered Natalie’s spirit by messing with her house? You’re not so sure. You don’t communicate with spirits, though you’re considering picking up a pendulum and attempting.

Ever since you’ve heard about Natalie, things in your house have been getting moved or straight up lifted. It doesn’t help that you hear, no, you think you hear, things outside lurking around your home. Spiritually, you’ve protected the place more than you think is necessary. The not deer, skinny legends and Wendy boys really shouldn’t be knocking around her mostly because the place is just one giant protective bubble. Still, as you sit up late in the night and look at the moon as it reflects the water from the pond and the peer through the darkness of the trees that hang much too low, you know something is out there that shouldn’t be.

This has all come to a head when you wake up one morning to see that the sparrow figurine is gone. It makes you startle and almost drop your mug in response.

“How the hell..?” You say as you stare at the empty space. Its little circular base has left the real shade of the wood it sits on open. The dust has accumulated around it. You saw it here just yesterday! Little brown and tan sparrow and now it’s gone.

On instinct, you open your front door. It was still locked, and it doesn’t seem that anyone came in. But you know that you didn’t move it either. You haven’t touched any of Natalie’s things, you wouldn’t because you’re worried you’re going to upset her spirit or something. Who took it?

Unfortunately, that’s not even the first time it’s happened. A few days later, the little robin is gone too. Now you are absolutely convinced your home is haunted.

Of course, you call up one of your friends who also practices witchcraft like you do to see what you can do about making amends with a spirit. He’s a death witch - he should know.

“Wait what?” He says, his voice conveying nothing but confusion.

“You heard me,” you sigh as you plop down on the couch. “I think she’s been like, taking things because she doesn’t trust me with them?” You say in a slightly confused tone.

“But you really haven’t moved anything in the living room, right? From the pictures you sent me, you left that space as hers. She shouldn’t be upset considering you never touched her stuff.”

“But these figurines are still missing. How did they just get up and go?” You ask in a slightly exasperated tone, staring at the empty space.

“Y’know what you should try?” He begins, a small audible smile on his face. “Find something personal of hers and return it to her. Maybe she’s looking for something and is just settling.”

“Do you have a protocol for that or..?” You trail off.

“I’ll send you a page from my grimoire, sounds good?”

Here you are, late at night, not able to sleep and looking for something personal of hers. You don’t think it’s anything out in the open that she wants because why would she want that? It’s in her line of sight. You’ve practically turned up your home looking for it - her home? You’re not sure what kind of terminology you should use in regards to this house, but you know you’re hellbent on finding something, anything of importance to her home.

“Come on, Natalie,” you mumble to yourself as you head to your bedroom and begin overturning things. “I just need something of yours, help me make it make sense,” you say. “Natlie, Natalie, Nat, Nat-” and immediately after that nickname tumbles from your lips, you get the overwhelming urge to check under your bed.

Like a mad woman, you dive down to the floor and begin pulling your storage boxes out from under it. One of them snags slightly, and when you tug on it, you pull. Odd. You tug even harder. That’s when part of the carpet comes up. You raise your brow and shove the box out of the way before crawling under yourself and use the flashlight on your phone. It’s dark, a little dusty under here, but you clearly know someone has been under here before.

Your fingertips creep around the edge of the odd piece of carpet before you pull it up, seeing that it’s already been cut up. And there, you feel a handle.

“Oh my gods,” you mumble creeping further under the bed before yanking at the small handle. It doesn’t give right away. In fact, it makes you bump your head from the sheer force of trying to open it. It’s almost as if it was a secret and you’re violating the parties who knew it existed. Still, you continue to tug on it before it finally pops open. You move your phone over to see that there’s a box with the lid loosely placed on. Your hand gently reaches in and scoops the box up. You hold it like it’s glass. “Thank you, Natalie, thank you,” you mumble as you roughly and awkwardly crawl out from back under the bed.

You sit on your bedroom floor now, your phone now forgotten as your fingertips gently trace the box. You mentally ask for Natalie’s permission to open it and when you get the feeling of something warm, like a hug, you do so. Inside the box that you gingerly open, you see that there are letters, letters upon letters in a writing addressed to her.

“Can I read these, Natalie?” You ask softly, your eyes scanning over the one you hold in your hand dates from a few years ago. You feel that warm hug again, and the night alights with songs from the birds on the pond. You know you have her permission.

‘March 16, 20XX. Dear Natalie, how are you? I just wanted to apologize for the other day. I shouldnt have left that soon, but you know hoy my dad is. Anyways, just wanted to check in. Hope to see you soon.’

‘March 22, 20XX. Dear Natalie, I wasn’t actually expecting you to get back to me after what happened! I - thank you. Things have been just fine with me, but I miss being in Alabama. No reason, just miss the woods by your place.’

‘May 5th, 20XX. It’s funny you mentioned that, I saw something last night that reminded me of you too. Y’know how you’re always going on about time and being punctual? The other day, me and my comrades were walking through an antique store. Whole bunch of clocks. Made me think of you:).’

You keep reading the letters and piecing together the story of these two as it picks up through the years as general friendship to something more. This person that Natalie was writing to told them a lot of things - everything from the general happenings of the day to more quieter, intimate things (that you tend to skip over out of respect for Natalie.)

Reading the letters to Natalie becomes a daily occurrence for you. There’s so many that you decide it wouldn’t be right to read them all in one day. So, you read two a night and piece together their story, learning of their love and finding out just who they were. Natalie left some letters that she never sent to her love, mostly the ones that she must have considered duds or the angry ones that she decided not to send when her fire had died down. What? All couples go through those patches. It’s whether you can fix it and get back on the road or hitchhike with another driver that determines the outcome. And them? They loved each other so much, looking at another driver to get to their destination was never an option.

It takes months for you to get through the letters. Even reading two a day, it’s hard to get through a few years worth of content. They wrote to each other often. You’re able to see the full spectrum of emotions from them two, even if you’re on;y reading the letters addressed TO Natalie and not from her (for the most part). You read them smiling, and can hear their tears alongside their laughter. They no longer feel like names on paper, but real, once breathing people.

Eventually, you reach a letter that finally completes the story as you know it. It’s dated from right around the time you know Zinnia and Briar moved in. It explains a lot.

You know that whoever Natalie’s love was working for was NOT a good man. He struck the fear of the gods into them. He was called ‘The Operator’ and apparently had eyes everywhere despite being faceless. The way Natalie’s love writes about him has you feeling chills down your spine. Them too, because it was enough for them to want to run away. Natalie’s love was called a proxy, and from what you can understand, that means he’s a person who does work for someone else because they don’t want to get directly involved. The Operator treats those who work under him like cattle, and nothing more. He was a scary, scary man, and the society he runs is one you know is not intertwined with yours.

The letter that’s in your hands is the last one before their escape it seems.

‘August 31st, 2018. Dear Nat, are you nervous? I’m nervous - you can probably tell by my writing. Tonight we leave everything behind. We run. I hope you know that it’s never too late for you to back out. Because after this, we can never go back to what we used to. I’m so sorry that being around that tall fuck-but did this to you - and shit, by extension, me. I’m so sorry for hurting you, but this is it. This is it. This is the final stop.

Who knew that me striking up a conversation with a cute girl behind the counter of some hippy’s coffee shop would lead to a love like ours? You mean the world to me, Nat. I’m more and more thankful every day that I think about you and receiving your letters has me up to the moon. If you asked me about this kind of thing before I met you, I would have told you that I would never have gotten rid of the proxy lifestyle for a human. Humans are… Well, according to the Operator, they’re dangerous. They’re not worth us.

But you? Oh gods, you? You changed everything. You made it worthwhile. You came into my life like a splash of color in a world so grey and cold and bathed me in warmth until I could reciprocate your love and make room for it to grow. I love you, Natalie. I love you so, so much. After tonight, we won’t ever have to worry about this - the space and the distance between us. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just us and our transparency.

I love you, Natalie. I love you so, so much. I’ll see you tonight, backdoor as per what is our usual. To the moon and back! Love, Toby.’

You don’t know why, but Toby’s letter makes you tear up. It’s like you can feel exactly how Natalie must’ve felt when she received it. The tears that prick your eyes roll down your cheeks and you can’t help but take a few moments. You’d always known their story ended with something sad due to the whispers in the town, but getting confirmation that Natalie ran… It didn’t work. It just didn’t work.

You’re wiping away your tears when you hear your backdoor get thrown open. No one comes out to your neck of the woods, and it makes you panic. You can’t find your phone - dang it! Must’ve left it in the kitchen. You scramble around your room as you hear whoever just broke into your house walk confidently without a care in the world to the living room.

“W-Who the f-fuck lives here n-now?” You hear a male voice mutter as they pass your bedroom door. “A-All this w-w-witchy shit,” they continue.

You mentally huff. Rude. You then quietly slink around before grabbing a large chunk of amethyst. It’s rough to the touch and weighty, and unfortunately, one of the only things you have as a weapon now. Your heart is pounding as you quietly move through your hallway to the living room.

“Where i-is it?” He continues mumbling to himself as he tears your living room apart.

You’re able to see him by the faint light of the moon. He’s got brown hair and twitches slightly. Is he nervous? He’s still tearing up your living room though and touching Natalie’s things, and that's unforgivable in your head. So, you raise your chunk of amethyst pillar and quietly creep behind him.

He turns around to look at you, genuinely surprised someone is here when you whack him as hard as you can with the chunk of amethyst. “Are y-you fucking s-serious?!” He yells as he pushes you back.

You look at him with confusion as you back up, still clutching the amethyst before you notice that he didn’t react in the way he should. You hit him really, really hard and in the back of the head. He’s back up and glaring at you like you mildly inconvenienced him. And now? Now he’s pissed and looking at you like he’s going to kill you. You notice that he has hatchets on the sides of his waist.

“C-Come here,” he taunts, eyes narrowed and slowly closing the distance between you.

“Stop,” you shout in an attempt to command him back. “I will hit you-”

“With t-that?” He sneers.

“I swear to the gods I will-”

He looks like he’s ready to pounce when he suddenly stops, a certain sadness and pause rushing over his body and his face as he looks at the letters in your hand. You’d honestly forgotten you were still holding them.

“Where d-did you g-g-g-get those?” He asks quietly, his shoulder dropping.

“What?” You ask, surprised he can do an impression of a human being.

“Those l-letters! They’re n-not yours!” You pull back hard when he tries to grab them from you and swing the amethyst at him and sneer when he ducks. “They’re not yours either!”

“T-The hell t-they aren’t! I-I wrote t-t-them!” He shouts back.

You immediately deflate. “You’re Toby?”

He freezes and flails his arms slightly as if to ask nonverbally, ‘you read those?’

You sigh deeply and rest your hand on your forehead before you rest your arms down slowly, showing that you’re not going to fight him. It’s a pleasant surprise that he slowly copies your movements. “Do you know how a keurig works?”

He nods slowly.

“Make us some coffee. We got a lot to talk about.”

“So, t-t-that’s why you’re here,” Toby hums as he dumps another unholy amount of sugar into his coffee cup. “I-I thought y-you were some s-squatter in Nat’s h-house,” he admits with a small chuckle before scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

You take in a small breath and nod, a small smile pulling your lips upwards. “This is what you were looking for, huh?” You say as you push the box full of memories towards him.

He puts the cup down and takes it into his hands carefully before hugging it to his chest. He then takes in a deep breath, relaxing. “Y-Yes, this is t-them,” he says quietly. “That’s a-a-all I really w-wanted.”

“And the little figurines?” You hum, a knowing smirk on your face.

Toby flushes slightly and nods once more. “T-They just r-r-reminded me o-of her.” He then places the box in front of him and leans back, his eyes blinking upwards towards the ceiling before he stares up at the ceiling. “I lost h-her that n-night,” he says, voice so soft and scared as if he’s reliving it.

“Toby…”

“That w-w-was our thing, y-y’know? W-We were gonna b-b-be free. My b-b-boss found out,” Toby hisses as he picks one of the letters up and gestures with it, “a-and he s-sent my own c-comrades to…” He closes his eyes to stop the tears from welling within them.

Natalie was grabbing her backpack from her room with everything important when Toby came to the doorway and smiled at her. “What’re you doing here?” She chuckled, her green eye flashing with amusement. “Thought you were gonna be getting stuff ready in the kitchen and watching the door.”

“Just d-don’t like being a-a-away from you,” Toby said, a small smirk on his face as he came up to Natalie and brushed a long strand of brown hair from her face. “You’re s-s-such a p-pretty girl,” he complimented.

Natalie blushed slightly and took his hand that rested on her cheek into hers. “Go. I’ll be fine in here.”

“W-Whatever you s-say, p-princess,” he teased before pressing a kiss to her forehead and hesitantly leaving her side.

Natalie rolled her eyes with that smile never leaving her face as she continued getting the last of her things ready for the leave. When she was absolutely certain she was ready to go, she slid the backpack on and headed to the living room. She was ready to go and start a new life with Toby, the only man who ever made her heart skip a beat.

“Are you ready?” She asked, her arms wrapping around Toby’s waist as he finished his cup of coffee.

“S-Sure am,” he replied before turning around and wrapping her in his arms. “You g-gonna miss t-t-this place?”

“Absolutely not,” Natalie laughed. “I can’t wait to get out-”

What happened next was pure chaos. The back and front door were both breached by men in masks, and Natalie quickly deduced that they were Toby’s comrades. His boss found out. Toby reached for the front table and palmed his hatchets and swung them at the man in the white mask.

“Run!” Toby shouted, pushing Natalie towards the open front door. He watched his heart run out and shake off the backpack to gain speed as she took off into the night. Masky hit him, but he did not flinch.

“Fucking hell, Toby!” A gruff voice shouted.

The young proxy then watched in horror as a flash of yellow zipped out into the night to chase after Natalie. Toby felt worry cloud hsi every movement as he dodged and hit Masky. Hoodie’s specialty was tracking and hunting. He had to get out there to help Natalie.

Toby took a step back then ran into Masky as hard as he could, slamming his leader into the floor before attempting to brutalize, but not kill him. When he was sure that Masky was going to need a moment, he shot up and sprinted out of the house and into the darkened forest to find Natalie. He must’ve prayed the entire time he ran.

He ran over the heavy forest growth and cursed the roots that almost tripped him before he felt his world go quiet.

Natalie was screaming.

Toby heard his name cried out in the trees and his heart sunk down to the forest floor as he ran wildly to the source. He felt hot tears as they rolled down his cheeks as he finally found that same damned hue of yellow waiting for him.

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” Hoodie mused as he dug his boot onto Natalie’s skull, making her cry out in pain and fear. Her arms reached out for Toby, his name permanently on her lips.

“You f-fucking bastard!” Toby roared as he lurched forward, attempting to beat Hoodie within an inch of his life when something hard smacked into the back of his head. Toby turned around to see Masky. His brown eyes were full of murder as he stalked towards Toby.

“I should kill you for this,” Masky sneered as he got within arm’s distance of Toby.

Toby glared and swung his hatchet again at Masky, now out for blood when Hoodie slammed his boot back into Natalie’s skull, a crack sending Toby into a fury.

“You won’t touch him if you know what’s good for you,” Hoodie said, his hands loosely hung in his pockets. “Leave him alone and focus on your girl.”

Toby felt chills down his spine as he turned his full attention to Natalie. “My g-g-girl,” he whispered as he fell to his knees to hold her. “M-My s-sweet, sweet g-girl.” His hands shoved Hoodie off of her skull, giving her room to breathe. After that, he turned her over on her back as she cried out in pain. He rested her head on his lap and let her sob.

“Toby,” she croaked in a voice like sandpaper. “Toby, it hurts,” she cried, hands reaching out to his face.

“I know,” he said as he gripped her hand. “I k-know, baby, I k-know.” Tears were pouring from his eyes just to see someone he loved in such pain. “It’ll b-be over soon, I p-promise.” His other hand that wasn’t being gripped by Natalie’s went to pet her hair and give her some comfort.

“Over real soon,” Masky huffed. “You better finish this.” Masky continued. “Or I’ll make Hoodie put a bullet in her skull.”

Toby sent another glare up to Masky and protectively held onto Natalie just a bit harder to not cause her physical body anymore pain.

“We need to run,” Natalie whispered as she reached up to hold Toby’s face. “We can still go-”

Toby hushed her as his eyes scanned over her body. She was beyond repair. Hoodie had broken her legs and bent them at angles that should not exist. “You n-need to r-rest, okay? W-We’ll go in t-t-the morning, I p-promise.”

“You do?” She asked, her beautiful green eye beginning to see the world more in shapes than in

“Y-Yes,” Toby promises. “Have I e-e-ever broken a p-promise to y-you?” He hummed before leaning down as best he could to kiss her forehead. “I l-love you, s-so, so m-much.”

Natalie sleepily giggled and allowed her tears to cascade down her face. “I love you too. To the moon and back?”

“T-To the moon a-a-and back,” he said as the grip she held on his hand weakened.

“Toby, my Toby,” she said softly, her voice growing softer as she repeated the words like a mantra. When her breathing slowed until it was nothing, her hand went limp in Toby’s.

Toby closed his eyes as his heart fell into millions of pieces. He refused to let Natalie go that night, and his teammates, who had acted on behalf of a father who did not love them, let him.

“A p-part of m-me died with h-her that night,” Toby says as he lovingly looks over the letters. “I still c-can’t breathe r-right without her.” He closes his eyes and allows his tears to fall. “I d-don’t think I e-e-ever will.”

You get up from your seat and pick it up, silently moving it to rest next to Toby as he begins to cry. You know he must’ve held this one in for so, so long. After planting your chair down next to him, you take him into your arms and allow him to cry.

Toby holds onto you and doesn’t let go. It’s like he views you as a comfort blanket or a teddy bear. And you let him. You let him get it all out.

You feel tears well in your eyes and let them fall too.

#ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #angst #toby creepypasta #reader insert #clockwork #natalie ouellette

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cerastes · 3 years

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Among many things in Darknight’s Memoir, I love how the themes, and their effect on the cast, get touched upon in a manner that isn’t entirely explicit but isn’t as crystal clear as you’d expect.

For example, at one point, W was entirely willing to blow herself up to take out the enemy. She didn’t particularly want to, but she was going to do it if it came to it and if she had no other way out. When Ines understandably asks her “are you serious?”, W simply answers “well, if there’s no other way out of this, a kill is a kill, right?”. Contrast this with her attitude later, where her demeanor is as playful and caustic as we’ve come to expect from her, but her decisions, however, her courses of action, change entirely. No more thrill-seeking by riding the Catastrophe’s wind, no more gambles, no more unnecessary risks, she’s come to put a value on her own life beyond being a mercenary in the endless war game of the Kazdel barrenlands, she’s got a mission, something she less needs to accomplish and more that she wants to accomplish.

And that’s an important narrative thread in Darknight’s Memoir: To want. Sarkaz mercenaries, by and large, fight for the next paycheck more than anything, to get by, a client that pays is a good enough client. W herself initially came to Hoederer with the intent on killing him and claiming the bounty on his head. Seeing her prey firsthand and noticing she can’t kill him, she joins him instead. And that’s just natural: Why take on a foe that will likely injure you irreparably or even kill you? Better join up, and go for bigger fish. There’s literally no stakes in that fight. There’s nothing beyond the paycheck, but that also means there’s nothing except the paycheck: You can take it, but you can also leave it. The longer lived Sarkaz know when to take and when to live.

W, at this point, Wanted Nothing. Just being able to go through the motions, through whatever fights came next, was good enough. One of the first scenes we are treated to involves W throwing a team of her own mercenary corps under the bus to make it out alive. As a reader, our first reaction most likely is “wow, what a bastard”, but then you see Hoederer and Ines’ reaction, and it’s simply “oh, yeah, that happens”. It’s completely normal. That just happens in Kazdel and among Sarkaz, it’s the norm. That’s not to say it isn’t appalling, but in the context of Kazdel, that’s just another day in the job.

There’s no Want. Or technically speaking, there’s a very superficial, utilitarian, soulless Want: The next day, the next paycheck, the next meal, the next fight. Who cares about whatever the trillion of ‘noble’ Sarkaz clans are fighting for or peddle? They have their flags and their sigils and their plastic speeches, but they are all the same: The same warriors, the same traitors, the same devils. Whichever pays you, it’s all the same.

That changes when W meets Theresa. The full breadth of their dynamic is not explored in Darknights’ Memoir, but it’s made very clear that seeing the King of Kazdel, the sovereign of all Sarkaz, the noblest of nobles herself, Theresa, hunched over clumsily trying to fix a janky door, had an effect on W. Well, that, and their subsequent dialogue. Theresa was likely the first Sarkaz W met that wasn’t at least romancing a few ways to kill her, that simply wanted to know her name, and a little more about her. To us, Theresa showed the barest of cordialities with a kind demeanor, but to W, it was likely something that sent her brain into a blue screen of death state. She took an interest in Theresa, unlike she ever did with any other Sarkaz, or noble, or even any other person, and she observed her and served her.

And that there is when a pivotal change occurs: Want.

There is now Want. W No Longer Wants Nothing. She wants to see Theresa interact with others, she wants to see her alone, she wants to see how she does this and that, she wants to see her ideals through, she wants to actually believe in what she has to offer, because for the first time, it’s not a paycheck on the other side of the table that’s motivating her, it’s being able to see someone sincerely working towards a noble goal without ulterior motives and without betrayal, someone who actually believes what she preaches. Not long before this particular cutscene, Hoerderer mentions having killed someone that was trying to assassinate him, a guy he knew and that called him his friend, that even said he’d love for him to marry his daughter. This is the Sarkaz Normal. Literally everything is meaningless to the Sarkaz, even camaradeire. Not on Babel, not on that landship. W might as well have seen paradise in Babel, and in Theresa, a Messiah.

And, see, this is what I love about Darknights’ Memoirs: W doesn’t suddenly turn soft. W doesn’t do a 180. W supports the lofty goals of Theresa in the ways she knows, no doubt dyed by Theresa’s colors, but nonetheless using the skills and temperament that comes natural to her. W was born and nurtured by the battlefield, it’d make no sense for her to suddenly discard all of it, but the colors of Theresa are evident from this point on, even after Theresa’s passing.

W never becomes any less ruthless to her enemies, but there’s clearly a change to the melody of her percussive explosives. It’s no longer about the next battlefield, it’s no longer about the next paycheck, no, every move, from there on, has one clear objective: Kill Theresis, for having Theresa killed.

Now, revenge is nice and cold, but there’s a difference in how she’s going about this: As Hoederer mentions he wants out of this sordid lifestyle, W’s first reaction is to lament the loss of a capable hand, but to otherwise tell him that, if he’s getting out, he might as well Take This Specific Route She Knows Is Safest. It’s not the first farewell she’s given her blessing to: In this very conversation, Hoederer muses that W’s turned soft for letting Flamebringer leave without repercussions. While W’s Sarkaz ended up directly killing Scout’s team, Ines herself outright says to Scout that W didn’t have the heart to kill her old Babel ally (and this is an important distinction: Remember that W is loyal to Babel, not Rhodes Island), with W likely half counting on The Ghost of Babel to be able to make it out with his considerable skills (although if we recall what Scout had to say in Operational Intelligence, he seems to have been pretty aware he was going to die one way or another, and accepted this; his lack of regrets make more sense when you consider he IS the reason why RI was able to rescue Doctor at all, thanks to his deal with W so she’d let Rhodes Island pass). W, at this point of Want, is at that point where she’s not losing any sleep if she has to off someone so her cover in Reunion is believable and isn’t blown, but if she can avoid killing RI Operators, she’ll try and take that road (such as her not killing Adnachiel). Obviously, it’s not exactly the most altruistic or heroic of attitudes, but it’s about as good as it gets for, again, someone who used to believe that using her own teammates as cannon fodder to cover her retreat was perfectly normal and expected, even.

Recall the talk Ines and Hoerderer had about flags. Hoerderer says he’d rather forget about their flag, because it’s an empty symbol, and there’s no real flag for him to believe for... Instead, he believes in the flagpole: You could take that to be a very pure representation of Kazdel as a concept, as this eternal, meaningless warzone, where meaningless people wage meaningless conflict for meaningless rewards, create meaningless bonds and ultimately die a meaningless death: The very same man that throws his arm around you, calls you his friend, and tells you to marry his daughter will take a contract on your head the next day. It’s just the flagpole. It’s meaningless. It holds nothing but useless air. A flagpole with no flag is representative of something that has no meaning and no essence, a lone flagpole is exactly that: An ode to being devoid of, bereft of what should be there, but isn’t.

In many ways, as you may have noticed, Hoederer is meant to be a foil to W, and this is no exception: W has a flag, and again, it’s extremely telling that W’s affiliation as an Operator is not Rhodes Island or Kazdel, it’s Babel.

If we can consider Kazdel to mean more than just a physical location, if we can consider Kazdel to represent that meaningless, cruel, harsh style of life and way of death, then so we can consider Babel to be more than simply “Rhodes Island before Rhodes Island”, we can consider Babel to mean the ideology of Theresa, that style of life and way of death, full of meaning, with a clear objective, with a rocky path well worth the bloody trek.

If whenever Hoederer talks about about wanting to “leave Kazdel” as wanting to leave this sordid lifestyle behind once and for all, then thus, W being a part of Babel, despite her contact with Rhodes Island’s Kal’tsit, despite her undercover status as Theresis’ representative of the Sarkaz in Reunion, despite all affiliations, then that means something. And it’s changed her to some degree, sure, but the important change here is not W as a person, but rather, what W chooses to do with what she is and what she can do, successfully breaking out of the endless cycle of meaningless, vapid warfare, participating in it only in order to eventually crush it. Whereas W initially joined Hoederer because she saw herself outgunned, W is actively going against Theresis, even if she is more outgunned than ever, because now she has something she Wants. She could very easily submit to Theresis, but that’s what the past, Want-less W would do, not the current W, driven by Babel.

Because maybe, that’s all that the Sarkaz needed: Not something to believe, because words are cheap and nobles have those a dime a dozen, but someone to believe in. And not just anybody, but someone that can actually promise you more than a meaningless battle the next three weeks, and then deliver with their actions.

Maybe all they need is to Want.

Because sometimes, many times, Wanting is what breaks the stagnant cycle, but do not underestimate how easy it is to forget to Want... Or to never have learned to Want, in the case of the Sarkaz.

#arknights #operator w

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five-rivers · 3 years

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Loved chapter 4

Written for Dannymay 2021 Day 3: Portal, even though the connection is sort of tenuous.

Bad things happened when Vlad came to Amity Park. For that matter, bad things happened wherever Vlad was. It was part of what made Vlad Vlad. Some part of his otherness, some twist of the shadow-fabric he was made of that left rot and ruin wherever his hem brushed. Of course, Vlad was never affected by this misfortune. In fact, he seemed to suck the luck out of everyone around him. Like a vampire.

Along with sanity. But that was a given for the others, even partial others, like Vlad. Or Danny.

But Vlad didn’t even try to hide or ameliorate the effects he had on people, didn’t try to keep them safe, to make their lives shine like the precious lights they were.

(Danny drummed his fingers on his chest and wondered, if, perhaps, it would feel less empty if Clockwork let him become a jewel box.)

But that was the way Vlad was, and Danny felt him enter Amity Park like nails on a chalkboard. His skin started to itch. His teeth hurt. Pressure pulsed in his head like waves of heat coming off asphalt. Being human, being real, was too tight, too heavy. It would be so easy to slip into the cool waters of the Dream and cut through them to wherever Vlad was.

No. He couldn’t. As shown time and time again, that would just exacerbate things. No matter what Vlad did, it would be worse if they fought, especially if there was anyone there to see it. Like what had happened with Jazz…

Danny was beyond lucky he’d been able to snap her out of whatever Vlad had done to her, but she still was quite right. The Vultures had actually apologized on Vlad’s behalf, after that.

(And wasn’t that strange, standing in the Dream on ground covered by bones and feathers, the Vultures on a dead tree, speaking as one. A thing of terror, apologizing for their ward. For pain suffered through Love. For lines crossed.)

Still. He had better… supervise Vlad, for a lack of a better word. Make sure he wasn’t getting up to anything. He’d go as a human – as himself.

He sighed and splayed his hands out on the table.

“Something wrong?” asked Sam, who had been making a complex sigil out of her fries and ketchup.

“Vlad’s in town,” said Danny. “I—”

The doors to the Nasty Burger were thrown open with a bang as Jazz came running in. She ran halfway through the store, to weak protests from the employee behind the counter, and skidded to a stop in front of their table.

“Vlad’s here,” he said.

“You saw him?” asked Danny, concerned. “Did he try—”

“No,” said Jazz. “I can just—It’s like he’s under my skin, and I—” She made a sound of frustration and gripped both sides of her head with clawed hands.

“Hey,” said Danny, gently, grasping her wrists. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” said Jazz, breathing deeply. “Alright. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”

“It’s okay,” said Danny. He looked back to his friends. “Anyway, I’m going to go see what he wants, okay?”

“I’m coming with you,” said Sam, standing.

“Me too,” said Tucker. “Sort of. Halfway.”

“You really shouldn’t,” said Danny. “You know what happens when we get together.”

“Which is why we want to back you up,” said Sam. “As long as he stays physical, there’s stuff we can do.”

Unless Danny was prepared to do something incredibly inadvisable, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. “Okay,” he said. “Just… be careful. If it looks like it’s going to turn into a fight, you need to leave.” He didn’t want them to get anymore spiritually messed up than they already were.

“We know, we know, you give us the spiel every time,” said Sam.

Yes, and Sam ignored it every other time. Danny shook his head. “Alright, let’s—”

Danny was promptly interrupted yet again, this time by his parents rushing in wearing… He could loosely call them clothes.

“It’s retro night, baby!” shouted Jack.

It was not retro night. There was no such thing as retro night at the Nasty Burger.

“I’ll take care of them,” said Jazz.

“Thanks,” muttered Danny, sliding out of the booth. “Come on, let’s go out the back.”

The alley behind the Nasty Burger was fetid in a way that made Danny’s shadow lift from the pavement and float on the air. Something that inhabited rats skittered in the corners at Danny’s presence and ran for a storm drain. He breathed shallowly.

“Which way?” prompted Tucker.

“He’s actually coming this way,” said Danny, frowning, debating facing him in this alley, just to see the disgust that would surely paint itself on Vlad’s face, paper-thin mask that it was.

Reality rippled, the surface tension that kept the Dream from bleeding in snapping. A miasma rose from the ground. Vlad stumbled into the alley, clutching at his face, which was melting. No, transforming. No, stretching. No, layering over itself a in dozen sickening ways, all the masks Vlad wore flickering over whatever truth he had all at once.

“Help me,” he grated. His words felt sick, diseased.

“Guys,” said Danny, fighting back the urge to vomit, “run.”

“No!” shrieked Vlad. “Help me!”

And sanity fractured like glass.

Whatever Danny’s parents had done to stabilize Vlad had worked, to a degree. It hadn’t fixed the underlying problem, which Danny could still feel slinking through the Dream. It also didn’t fix whatever he’d done to Sam and Tucker, although it had kept it from progressing further.

Danny took a slow, angry breath and ran a mental count of the lives stored inside his chest. They were there, all of them. Whatever happened to Sam and Tucker, they wouldn’t die.

But Danny knew there were fates worse than death.

His fingernails left half moon impressions on his palms as he clenched his fists. The Dream roiled with his fury, the force of it enough to keep Vlad’s diseased thoughts away.

“Daniel,” croaked Vlad. “Cure me.”

“That’s what Mom and Dad are trying to do.”

“Find a cure for me,” said Vlad, as if he hadn’t heard Danny at all, “and you’ll find a cure for your precious little friends.”

Danny stilled. “You did this on purpose.”

Vlad laughed. “Of course, I did, my dear boy. What value is a simple human mind compared to those such as we?”

Any rage Danny had felt up to this moment paled in comparison. The mirror over the sink cracked down the middle, never to show a true physical reflection again. He hated—

A concerned tug at Danny’s throat jolted him from his thoughts. Clockwork. Clockwork would know what to do. He turned, and without a second glance at Vlad, strode bodily into the Dream.

It took Danny even less time than usual to find Clockwork, and, when he did, he immediately found himself at Clockwork’s center, deep within the castle that was his metaphor. Dozens of Chains were fixed to Danny’s collar, each of them completely taut, holding him perfectly immobile, the embrace of a relieved but panicking parent. Clockwork’s emotions, too vast for Danny to fully comprehend, were transmitted directly through those chains, microscopic vibrations raising gooseflesh on Danny’s skin. A wordless noise both distressed and pleased wound its way from Danny’s throat, continuing to echo long after he’d run out of the breath to maintain it.

Clockwork’s avatar cupped Danny’s face in its hands, long fingers almost completely encircling his head. There was more of Clockwork in it that there usually was.

“Clockwork…?” asked Danny, weakly, confused and overwhelmed by the sudden flood of affection.

Poor little one, whispered the avatar, this is what happens when matters are not properly attended to. The Vultures should know better, should take care of him properly… It pressed its forehead to Danny’s, startling a squeak from him.

Danny, reflexively, brought his hands up to clutch at the avatar’s robes.

My poor child. What are they thinking, letting him run around so ill, so that he might infect other children?

Clockwork saw Vlad as a child, too. Not surprising, considering how ancient Clockwork must be, but good to know.

That emotion! It was only a shadow, and even so-!

“Emotion?”

Hatred, hissed Clockwork’s avatar.

The collar around Danny’s neck constricted, a tighter, more Loving, more comforting, hug. Danny gasped, although breathing here was psychological rather than physiological. The cloth of the avatar’s robes began to wind up Danny’s arms.

Even the pale, human shadow of it is not something you should experience, my child.

Danny didn’t like being that angry, but—

Even the concept of it is too much, too heavy. You should not have to bear it. I should not have overlooked it. The avatar’s hands moved to the back of Danny’s head, pressing his face against its shoulder. It must hurt you so,murmured the avatar, carding fingers through Danny’s hair. Fear not. I will excise it. All of it, even the idea of it shall not touch you, shall not sully your thoughts.

The avatar stepped away.

“Wait!” shouted Danny, panicking.

Not being able to hate? Danny had mixed feelings about that, but he doubted he’d be able to talk Clockwork out of it, not with how damaging Hate could be. In the end, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. Not being able to understand that it existed? Not being aware of hate at all? Being unable to understand that, sometimes, people would go out of their way to hurt one another?

That was dangerous. That would render him unable to even begin to comprehend vast swathes of human history and humanity.

“If I don’t know what it is,” said Danny, “if I don’t know that it exists, how can I protect myself against it?”

A gust of wind blew through Clockwork’s sepulchral hall like the sigh of a giant. It is my duty to protect you, my child.

The sheer possessiveness of the words lingered on Danny’s skin. He wanted to lean into them but held his imaginary breath.

But very well.

Danny let himself relax, slightly, even as the avatar walked to somewhere he couldn’t see, its silent footsteps giving him no clue as to where it was. With only the constant, regular hum and tick of Clockwork’s gears to stimulate him, it was hard for Danny to stay vigilant. He found himself drifting, his thoughts wandering.

Did his hatred of Vlad cause him pain, as Clockwork said? What was it going to be like, to not be able to hate at all, rather than just not being able to Hate? Would he still be angry at Vlad? He hoped so. The man deserved it.

Two points of frigid cold touched the back of his head, contracted into a single point, and pulled. Danny felt something within him come free, and he sagged as much as the chains would allow him.

The avatar walked back into view, and Danny recoiled from the thing he was carrying, clasped in a long, silver pair of tweezers. “Is that,” started Danny, before he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Was that in me?”

Yes, said Clockwork’s avatar, lowering it into a small, jeweled box. Danny felt relieved as soon as the lid closed on it and he was no longer forced to look at it. At the same time… Fear not, said the avatar. I could never destroy something of you. It will be remade into something more useful.

Danny nodded as much as he could and shuddered. He felt… dirty. Unclean. Just remembering what he’d felt, what he’d thought… It left a deep sense of wrongness.

Come, said Clockwork. I have just the thing for that. You are due for a bath. A cleansing, inside and out.

The metaphor of the chains fell away, leaving just the one, usual, slack one. Danny knew Clockwork could call them back at any time, that, in truth, they had not gone anywhere at all.

“What about Vlad?” he asked, twisting his hands around the hem of his shirt. “And my friends? Can you help them? Please.”

He felt Clockwork examine him appraisingly.

Perhaps the bath can wait for another day.

The mirror was a portal, tall and wide as a door, glassy surface gleaming with otherworldly light. The edges were crimped, filigreed, flared. Beyond the reflection, Danny could just make out the suggestion of movement.

It is not real, said the avatar, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, but a might-have-been.

“But I can find a way to fix things in there?”

The avatar did not answer. A prickling feeling rose up inside Danny, settling in his stomach. Somehow, this felt similar to when he’d eaten the mirror with the bad future.

It is,confirmed the avatar, briefly nuzzling Danny.

“Why?” asked Danny, just a little horrified.

Is it not satisfying to complete two tasks at once? I told you, back then, that our next task would be to remove those presents that seek to exclude you.

Danny didn’t understand.

You will. Clockwork’s avatar paused, as if thinking. This is what the Vultures should have done for young Vladimir, although they would have accomplished it differently.

“Oh,” said Danny, trying to wrap his head around that.

Clockwork’s avatar nudged him forward. Follow the chain when you are ready to come home.

Danny wasn’t connected to anyone in this might-have-been world. It was odd, watching every eye slide off him as if he wasn’t even there. If he wanted to interact with someone directly, he’d have to put a lot of force of will into it.

It was strange. Other than that, everything here seemed perfectly real. Not imaginary at all. The sun shone. People spoke to one another. The grass crunched under his feet.

The University of Wisconsin-Madison lay before him in all its questionable glory.

He’d have to find Vlad and his parents. They had rented a small lab space for their experiments with the Dream and research into the others.

Normally, he’d follow his connection to them to find them, or the disturbance Vlad made in the dream, but neither of those things existed, now. Not yet. Danny didn’t exist yet.

He could just wander, try to seek out questionable lab space, but the university’s campus was large. Normally, he’d ask for directions, but…

Yeah, the no one being able to see or hear him thing really didn’t allow for that.

But there was one other thing he could try to do, one other thing he could try to sense. Their experiments. They should send waves across and through the Dream.

He let his eyes drift closed and walked blind across campus. When he opened them, he was in a lab, watching his parents and Vlad working on a kind of magic circle, inscribed with runes.

A portal, intended to let humans directly access the Dream. A portal that had created Vlad, all because he leaned too close, watched too closely, seen too much, became something else, changed.

Something like anger stirred under his skin. After this, his parents had continued to experiment, continued to try to reach the Dream, to create a weapon against the others, and in doing so both doomed Danny himself and Amity Park by making what amounted to a highway for the others to come to the real world.

But they hadn’t intended to do that, he knew. They’d been trying as best as they could to fix things. Had been trying to defend the world the best they knew, portal or no portal. And speaking of the portal… If others could damage human sanity, if Danny, small and weak and almost-human as he was, could damage human sanity, then how much more could a direct link to the Dream do? Discounting, of course, that normal dreams could lead to the Dream… That connection was more tenuous. Filtered.

His anger was a distraction from what was really bothering him.

These people, they looked like his parents. They were his parents. But… they weren’t. There was no attachment there. Nothing. It was like looking at empty shells. No Love.

It was distressing.

He watched, waiting, making note of the symbols and the placement of the ritual objects and the technological enhancements. There had to be something here that would help explain why Vlad was having such a hard time, while Danny had transitioned to his present existence without much problem.

He leaned over his not-mother’s calculations, then his not-father’s, made note of the differences. Looked at the fire, the knife, and the carved cylinders. Some of them didn’t feel quite right. One of them had been nudged out of alignment by a soda can put down by not-Jack, shifting the circle, making it bigger. Could that be something?

Vlad leaned over to examine the circle, and, at the same time, not-Jack pushed a button on the tape player, which started chanting. Danny could feel the hole boring into reality before the first syllable was finished. They’d made the portal both too well and too poorly.

Danny reached for Vlad and pulled him back, out of the way of the opening portal.

Danny may have made a mistake.

He’d saved Vlad from becoming other. In doing so, he’d changed things, altered this entire make-believe world. The way the story was progressing was no longer the same as his own. Which meant that it might be useless for collecting clues for fixing Vlad, Sam, and Tucker. Mostly Sam and Tucker.

(He’d help Vlad if it wouldn’t hurt his friends, he didn’t hate the man, not anymore, didn’t desire his suffering. But his friends were, of course, his main concern.)

But he couldn’t just leave. He’d made note of all the flaws in the portal, but that wasn’t in any way conclusive, wasn’t a guarantee.

And, in the meantime, his not-parents and not-Vlad had continued working on the portal, which they hadn’t shut down, unlike in the proper timeline. Or had it been disrupted by Vlad? He didn’t remember the exact sequence of events. His parents had never been clear.

But the portal was on, it was working, and it was wrong. Everything was wrong. The portal was in a class of things that should-not-be.

Just like Danny, in this world. He… With the portal, and the way things were going, he shouldn’t exist here, the butterfly effect would keep him from being born, and he was becoming painfully aware of that fact. Literally painfully. It was starting to hurt, being here, a throb in the back of his head.

Or was that the portal?

Either way…

(He couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was breaking things just by being here. Everything was going wrong. So many little accidents.)

(Or was that the portal?)

He kept watching.

It had been… a while, now. It was easy to lose track of time like this, with no one to talk to. Days? Maybe? He’d been drifting, which should have been troubling.

Maybe he should go back. Cut losses.

(Besides, it was disturbing watching his parents flirting with each other. And Vlad. Even if they weren’t really themselves.)

Then his parents wheeled in a… What was that? He walked closer. This was about the same size around as the pillars that had done this to him.

Danny would never forget those, after all.

Something hummed inside him, picking up a kind of resonance between the active portal and the pillar.

The ground fragmented beneath his feet.

Reality followed soon after.

He found himself nowhere with nothing. Only nowhere and nothing.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

What had he done? He’d, he’d destroyed a world, he’d—

There was a gentle, but insistent tug on his chain. He followed it home.

He clung to Clockwork’s avatar, gasping, as if he was the only real thing in the world. His emotions were too much, too great, uncontained and roiling. They battered him like a stormy sea.

It’s alright, it’s alright, comforted the avatar. It wasn’t real, and now it never will be. All those worlds where you would not be. All gone.

No. No. No. Horror buzzed in his brain. He couldn’t have destroyed so much.

Never were,continued the avatar, Clockwork apparently oblivious. All disproven. Paradox. You could not be and yet you were. You were in the places you were not. So, now you exist, in all these places, in everywhere that could be, and always will. It stroked Danny, brushing away tears. Only one more to go, until you never were not, my beloved child, until you always were mine, as you were meant to be.

Danny keened into the robes of Clockwork’s avatar, distraught. Wind ruffled his hair.

Considering the point in time in which you were placed, said the avatar, Vladimir will be well again.

Danny looked up, hopeful for the first time in hours.

Mostly. The underlying cause has been removed. You should bring the rest to your… progenitors. They are at least competent in this area.

Danny nodded vigorously and attempted to extract himself from the avatar’s grasp. He was unsuccessful, although the avatar did adjust its grip on him.

You have had a difficult day, it observed. It then presented Danny with a cookie.

Confused, Danny took it.

A gift, said the avatar, Clockwork having evidently returned to his normal laconic mode.

“What’s it made of?” asked Danny, suspicious.

Love. What else?

“How do you feel?” asked Danny.

“Weird,” said Sam. “But okay.”

“What was it like?”

Sam shrugged. “It was like…” She waved her hand. “Watching a thousand different movies of my life, but they were all wrong. Like if they were crappy biopics done fifty years after I died or something.”

“Speak for yourself,” grunted Tucker. “I just got a lot of sand. So, so much sand. And sun. Do I have a sunburn?”

“No?” said Danny. “You look fine.”

“Ugh, I forgot you were white. You don’t know what sunburns look like.”

“I’d argue,” said Sam, “but you’re not wrong.” She fell back against her pillows. “I just want to sleep.”

“Same,” said Tucker. “I never want to see the sun again.”

“We’ll make a goth of you yet,” joked Sam, tossing a pillow at him.

“Okay,” said Danny, backing away. “Should I get the lights?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Sleep well,” he said. He hoped they would.

(Because he would not.)

#danny phantom #loved #eldritch abomination AU #dannymay #dannymay 2021 #dannymay day 3: portal

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thatharringrovehoe · 3 years

Text

So I've been playing Dishonored which is my favorite game and this popped into my head so now you all have to suffer with me. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

He's so fucking cold. Like he’s been plunged into a lake mid winter and can’t find his way to the surface. Hands shaking, Billy sifts clumsily through the box of his mother’s things he keeps hidden in the back of his closet. He's found that if he thinks about the good times, picnics at the beach under the California sun, the thing oozing it's way though his brain losses just a bit of it's grip. Leaves Billy with enough motor function to stumble around his bedroom, trying to find the right pieces. And fucking hell it’s been so long since he's done this. He can remember helping his Ma when he was little, chubby fingers clenched tight in her cotton sundress as she arranged the items on the table just right. Pricked her finger to draw sigils in a language long forgotten, her voice a soft cadence through the bedroom as she hummed Billy’s favorite lullaby. No words, just a beautiful mournful thing. Humming a song of grieving loss. Billy doesn't know why he likes it so much.

“Remember baby. When you offer your gifts they have to be special. Well loved. Something that brings you joy every time you use it.”

His mother kept a pair of earrings on the cloth covered table. She never wore them when his father was home. Took them out and put them back on the little rickety stand in the back of her closet every day before he came back from work. Dangling silver daggers with the onyx beads. Billy shoved one straight through his left earlobe when he turned fifteen and has barely taken it out since.

His Ma told him that everything he built his shrine with had to mean something. Had to be something he treasured. From the fabric to the stand itself. So Billy tried his best. Draped his best leather jacket over the milk crate that held all of his favorite hair products. Placed his Ma's Fleetwood Mac album next to one of his mother's silver earrings (the one he always wears), arranged as neatly as he can manage. He’d had to prick his thumb seven times because to his dawning horror it kept healing over. Just another tally mark towards something being really fucking wrong. And he remembers the warehouse. Can still feel the slimy caustic sludge being pumped down his throat by a fucking tentacle. But he’d hoped it had been a dream, a nightmare from reading to many Lovecraft novels. Billy curses as he slices open his thumb for what feels like the millionth time.

Apparently not.

He's drawn the characters just how he remembers. His mother had made him practice every day, showing him each and every shape and line, drawn in colorful crayon. She gave him a cookie every time he got them right. Never hung them up on the fridge though. Didn't want his father to see.

He can feel the shadow creeping through his blood, dragging it’s claws against his veins. It might not know exactly what he’s doing yet, but it must be able to feel the intention. Billy thinks of ocean waves and a soft hand running through his curls. Fights the pull at the back of his mind to just give in. To sleep. His hands shake harder.

Fuck, where is it?! Billy combs through records and trinkets, a bottle of her perfume. He’s desperately hoping it didn't get lost in the move because his mother never taught him how to make one. Hell, he's pretty certain that he wouldn't be able to find the pieces he needs in Hawkins anyway. Not like Melvalds has a supernatural voodoo isle.

Then finally, finally he finds it. Lifting up his mother’s satin scarf it comes tumbling out to land on the floor with a clatter. Bleached white and beaten smooth by the waves, it's about the size of a sand dollar. Billy picks it up, places it in the palm of his hand. He still remembers the day he found it out on the shore. Washed up between some sea glass, the leather bindings still somehow soft even soaked with salt water. Etched with symbols and shapes Billy will never understand. When Billy showed it to his mother an unreadable expression crossed her face. It was that evening she showed him her shrine.

The rune seems to hum against his skin, an otherworldly song from far away ghosting past his ears. The thing that’s trying to Shanghai Billy’s brain writhes. It's angry, but more than that it’s fucking terrified and Billy has never been more sure of anything in his life. This was a good idea. But his limbs are getting colder, heavier. Whatever this evil piece of shit is it doesn’t like what Billy’s doing. He has to fight against the deadening of his limbs, crawling towards his shitty attempt at a shrine from his place on the floor. His vision is starting to grow dark when he finally clutches on to the milk crate, placing the rune between the earring and his cassette tape. And he knows that there's no guarantee. That whatever his Ma prayed to every night never shielded her from Neil’s fists, didn’t do a damn thing as the cancer slowly drained her down to nothing. That sometimes (most times) when someone would call out to the void the only thing they heard in return was their own disappointment. But he's got no other options. This is his trump card. His last resort. If this hocus pocus bullshit doesn’t work then Billy is up shit creek without a paddle. With a frustrated shout against the nightmare pulling him in, Billy begs.

“Please! Fuck, help me! I'll do anything, c’mon just- please!”

The air in Billy’s bedroom all of a sudden seems to shudder. The shadows flicker and meld together, reaching outwards. The sound of dry fall leaves blowing in the wind, a wail of a thousand dying worlds ricochets off the walls. Then nothing. Billy scrunches his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Fuck, of course it didn’t work. Story of his life. He called for help and just like always it doesn't mean shit. No one is coming to save him.

“Well well well. Certainly been a long time since someone summoned me like that. Very old school.”

Billy’s eyes snap open, the surprise and adrenaline enough to fight the heaving weight of his limbs to raise his head. And there, perched on his shitty milk crate shrine, sits the most beautiful boy he's ever seen. He's got hair the color of soil after it rains. High cheekbones and full lips, milky white skin dotted with a constellation of beauty marks. Billy didn't know what he expected but it certainly wasn't this. The boy god is dressed in a swanky leather coat the color of charcoal with pants to match. Eyes like an oil spill, inky black and endless. With a good look at Billy, they narrow dangerously.

“I thought I fucking told you not to touch this world. You want a repeat of last time?”

Whatever deity he summoned looks pissed as hell. Did he not do it right? Maybe the items weren’t good enough. That would be just his luck. He's so confused he almost doesn’t notice it right away. The shadow slowly working it’s way through his body has stopped, retreated a little even.

“I-... I don't know what you’re talking about. Please, there's something wrong with me. Something got put inside of me and I need it out. Please, help me.”

Billy hasn’t begged since his Ma was takin her last breath in that damn hospice bed. Didn't see the point when it always got you nowhere. But now he can't make himself stop. Cuz he's never been this scared before. The things this monster inside him wants him to do. It's so strong, like he’s fighting a steam roller. He's got no hope on his own.

The boy sitting on his best leather jacket stills. Cocks his head to the side slightly, considering. Then those pretty pink lips are spreading out into a gleeful smirk. Slides off the shrine to settle on his knees in front of Billy. Reaches out his hand to cup Billy’s jaw gentle enough it makes him want to cry.

“You can't get a good enough hold of this one can you? Interesting. Tell me trouble maker, what's your name?”

That voice, deep and ethereal, seems to echo from all around him. He can feel it vibrate in his bones. He wants, no, needs to answer.

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

The boy smiles now, all gleaming pearly whites. If Billy looks long enough reality starts to flicker. And for just a second all he can see is teeth sharp like knives in a Cheshire grin. There for a moment and gone in a flash. The hand on his jaw tightens just the slightest fraction.

“Well Billy Hargrove. You seem to find yourself in quite the predicament. That parasite sucking on your soul is an old acquaintance of mine. He's one nasty little shit.”

If a brain washing shadow monster could feel indignant he’s pretty sure that’s what's happening now. Whatever was hijacking Billy's mind has curled up somewhere tight, sunk it’s teeth in deep. Cornered like a threatened animal.

“Please, I’ll do anything you want. I can’t… I can’t fight it. It's too much.”

There’s enough tears leakin down his face that it's soaking the front of his shirt. The boy is giving him this look, almost amused. The longer he holds Billy’s jaw the more the monster losses his grip, and Billy is ready to do anything at this point. Because that thing stuck to his brain wants him to find people. Feed it people. Wants Billy to drink all the chemicals in the supply shed at the pool. Told Billy that if he tried to fight it would take Max first and he can't let that happen.

The boy seems to come to a decision, grabs Billy’s hands to help him shakily to this feet. He doesn’t let go even when they’re both standing.

“You know there’s not many who can fight his hold for this long. I'm impressed.”

He steps forward until his chest is practically pressed up against Billy's. He smells like ozone and smoke, bottomless black eyes trained on stormy blue. Reaches up to tangle his fingers into Billy’s curls, sending tingles across his scalp. Smiles wider at the small noise that escapes Billy's throat.

“I'll help you Billy Hargrove. But in return, you have to do something for me.”

Billy's nodding before he can even really register what’s being said. Anything. He'd do whatever this pretty boy asked as long as he keeps touching Billy like this. Gentle, with a reverence no one has ever bothered to show.

“I need you to kick this little shit back into the hole he crawled out of. Can you do that for me Billy? I wanna see how your story pans out trouble maker. Wanna see what you do when someone gives you a chance.”

Billy nods again, breathless. The boy chuckles, the sound saccharine. Like warm honey dripping down his spine.

“Gunna have to use your words baby.”

Billy swallows, the click of his dry throat loud in the warm personal bubble they’ve created.

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll do it. Whatever you want pretty boy, please.”

It comes out a whisper but the boy hears it all the same. The boy smiles bright, pulls Billy forward. Soft warm lips press against his own and Billy is floating. He's never been kissed like this before. Slow and deep, the boy's tongue pressing in to curl and slide. Stuff him full. Billy's shaking for a whole other reason now. Reaches out to grip the boy's coat, cool to the touch where Billy is burning. Fire rushing through his veins, and he's already so close just from this. Whimpers brokenly into the kiss.

The boy pulls him in impossibly closer, slots his thigh between Billy’s legs, pushes up up up. And Billy is right fucking there, grinds down as he swaps spit with an old god in his shitty bedroom with the peeling yellow paint and the door that locks from the outside. Can feel the tell tale tingle spreading behind his navel.

“ ‘m gunna cum! Fuck, more please!” Billy mumbles curses into the kiss, breath hitching as his balls draw tight. The boy smiles against his mouth, yanks his curls back to bite into the meat of his neck and Billy’s gone, pulsing rope after rope of cum into his underwear.

“Oh my- .. Fuuuuuck. Yes! Uhhhnn!” He's panting like a dog as he slumps forward into the boys shoulder. Gentle fingers card through his hair as aftershocks zap up and down his body. A kiss is pressed behind his ear, a soft warmth flooding his core. He can't feel the shadow anywhere.

“So good for me sweet thing. Makes me want to keep you.”

It's said so quiet, like the boy doesn’t intend for it to be heard. Billy presses his face into his neck. There's no heartbeat under the boy's skin.

“You could. I want you to.” Whoever this is, whatever he is, he came for Billy. Answered his literal cry for help when no one else did. He doesn't know what he has to offer but he wants to give this impossible boy everything.

The boy in question hums. Brings Billy's left hand up to kiss the back of it. His skin feels hot under his lips, bordering on uncomfortable. Like stepping on sun scorched pavement. When the boy pulls back there’s a tattoo on his hand. A strange design that looks vaguely like a compass. It's the same mark as the one on the middle of the rune sitting behind them.

“I haven't given my mark to someone quite so special in a while. Try not to disappoint me Billy Hargrove.”

The boy goes to pull away but Billy still has his hand clenched tight on his coat. Panic wells up in his chest. Doesn't want to end whatever this is quite yet.

“Wait! What’s-…what's your name?” Which is a valid question he thinks. And probably one he should have asked at some point before he started grinding his dick on the guys leg. Oh well.

“I've had many names, none if which would hold any significance for you. Call me what you want trouble maker. I'll be there when you need me.”

Billy believes him. Then between one blink and the next the boy is gone, tendrils of dissipating smoke the only evidence he was ever there. A deep voice whispers from nowhere and everywhere.

“Ask your sister about the monsters in the woods.”

On the shrine the only thing that remains is the rune, both his gifts having apparently been accepted. Billy gives a hysterical bark of laughter at the thought of some higher being listening to Fleetwood Mac somewhere out in the void. It gives him an idea. He drags his lips across the fresh mark on his hand, mumbles into his skin.

“Thanks Stevie.”

#i don't know what this is but here ya go!#Outsider!Steve #Billy Hargrove #harringrove #dishonored au #yes Billy gets powers but i haven't decided what they are yet #that hoe writes #stranger things #Neil you better watch out my boy has a literal old god for a boyfriend now

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