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captainkurosolaire · 5 years

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Prompt #8 : The Agreement

Overlooking the pushing tides eye closed and hands clenched before a fallen wry smile befell a Captain of Gold, a seagull cawing and swooping up a smaller fish upon it’s beak, not far from the spot a cliff hungover nearside the Silver Bazaar where the flight of the free savored their delights peace of calmness was felt in the surrounding environment, “Ye gonna stay lurking in those shadows? It’s kinda of hard not to hear the excitement bubbling from the overgrown butterfly.” He lightly rotated and tilted and appearing before him was another Miqo’te with a blindfold but not simple one, this one held more history. For you see this was his biological Father. The man who gave himself to a Doma resistance group and led assassination operations instead of stuck close to true treasure...

A encapsulating figure of marvel and luminous speaking up in a squeaky high-pitched voice floating closely to the mysterious man, <What did you call me? Butterfly!!! I’ll show you.” The Eos getting pulled by two finger digits and held back by a dress. Softer and more gruff with experience and harden pitch, “Son.” He rung. Still coveting that mask of his eyelids. His perception of senses heightened and his trusty companion leading him.

The ruffian pirate retorted, “What brings you out of the shade and into my orbiting Sun? Huh old man? Came to assassinate me or for the better term attempt too? The bounty better be worth a nifty sum of gil to have you step to me reminds me, how’s the arm pops?” His golden amber hue looking towards a damned well limb that was ripped asunder in a battle that took place a few Moons passing now right before the crucible of a War of the Depths. Hoku’s metallic magitek augmentation lifting up lightly no sound slinking from it almost perfectly only to those with the most sensitive hearing. “Seems you’ve but still remained ever the delinquent and unwavering. Should know damn well why I returned to see how you’ve been training and coming along ensuring you haven’t slacked off just because one battle was over... How about we cut it out? He said wisely and seriously atone.” The toothed-fang smirk and arrogance returning back, “Aye? Ye wanna know how I’ve been doing. Absolutely dandy. I’ve got dead crewmates here and there some captured and held, I’m wanted. I’ve never felt more alive! I’m atop of the world. Hell I get a golden ovation every time I step in a room. They always remind me in applause of my upstanding Father and being raised!” Talking with sarcasm towards the ending response.

“Yes well, I didn’t expect you to be fine. You’re already lying to yourself still it seems, you’re miserable. Worse than that aren’t you? A parent knows...” Being cut off by the loudmouth scoundrel, “What the hell exactly do you know what I been through? Were you there! No, I had to do heinous things on the norm to survive. You least can abandon your emotions all behind and ditch what matters to you, NOT ME. When I see a Treasure, They are the object of my World. My closest parent was only one man, he’s in these depths. Leviathan, I can show you t’ spot!” “It’s not wrong, when you become a contract killer you abandon nearly all of you have to forget and be within coldness so it doesn’t dampen your inabilities to see too a well earned victory stricken when another head’s off the list. You’re right I might one day, I’ll be deployed to have to kill you. But it’ll be in pride and at this point... However, It’s not the worst option now either. I was controlled before but I fought you, I saw you. Truly within my Sight. You all but know how special our gift is... In a moment, I saw what you did, became, it was an omen.” The furrowing eyebrow tattooed and battered scarred pirate stood closer in, “What is that?“ An answer simple and held grave. “You sold yourself... To death. Your death or better of the like term for it the Ferryman. Only visited when sought with ambitions bigger. The individual offers to give up his Soul in due time as a bargaining chip but your Soul’s split before he could reap you and ever since then you been on borrowed time. Here is the thing though, no one outruns it. It’ll catch up. You already been experiencing the nightmares? You losing control? Slipping out of balance and touch with yourself waking up in sweats. I know you took the deal because your fighting style. While it’s true an assassin borrows the skills required to administer and serve as the reaper themselves. You instead borrowed it’s luck. Ever since then you been on borrowing. Everything you’ve done has led to this. You already want to cut your own heart out of your torso don’t you? The pain gets worse, that psyche is already acting distorted. You’ve already seen it fallen into shambles. Even THAT beast you chained, is frightened. You’ve brought damnation upon yourself and you.... smile.” He fatherly scolded and also act as a former Mentor of the pirate. That infamous smirk was placed on Kuro as he looked over at Hoku, “What’s the matter worried? You’re correct, I did give in to something bigger than me. Cause ye see that’s what I have to do. You weren’t left with nothing, screw the compass where did it lead me? Getting my ass-kicked and no friends at that shitty orphanage? How about every single thing I’ve stolen to survive in the Lanes? News flash there isn’t much to eat there. You have no where to go, or turn too, be alone with nothing! Even your caretakers don’t give a single shite. I appreciate your sentiment but it’s none of your business mate you’ve but sunken your opportune time for a lecture. Hell maybe it’s not a bad thing to give into what else lies dormant in me, let him have control wreck havoc and then let him get reaped shortly after. Surely, that’ll be any better!” “You’re the exact same as your Mother was stubborn and risky at a fault trying to prove something bigger. You’ll always run into curses but taking that of Death’s is the worst one. You wonder why your crew is dead? Why chaos follows you, because you bring it’s company with you on your adventures, It doesn’t matter at all that you can lead them. It’s the fact by them being around you their luck considerably has diminished. That specter knows no bounds and it’s swiping for your head to cleave it off! Yeah, you dodge it. But look who is with your in the cross-hairs being replaced.Seems you found yourself someone special, I’m happy. Though even she and partially in death’s favor can be disposed of and it’ll come by, you. So you’ve got two options, son. You let me end you right now, which is probably for the better as mercy for the pain you’ll be inflicted. You’d rather prefer any other cruelty. Or you can listen to me and take option two.” Boldly stepping closer and hearing his eye gave thought and looked over at the seas the clouds darkening. He felt ringing truth, “How did you obtain knowledge even of this?” The pirate’s father and guide in life, “My own Mentor you see is a rather unique individual an Immortal but not the type you’re accustomed too. This immortality is but a curse that leaves a man sick, he cannot be killed by any means but he has a fate worse than that. He suffers from Death’s Choke. Where his body becomes encased in the worst pain of any lifetime all at once constantly and causing him to have servants and others to draw upon aether and bring it to them to cope. There’s no telling when he’s allowed to move or do anything but sit on a weakly bed and be tarnished. People have associated him with many titles but lately he’s taken up in the creation of a Sky Pirate crew that you know runs the biggest black market and trade organization a fleet so big that there is Six Tiers too.” Scoffing and sighing lowly, “Seriously we’re going on that again? Flaming Pegasus or aka the ‘Arbiters Line’ It’s a rumor at this point the only people who’ve real contact has been Beast Tribe and a few odd strays. I’ve bought things from them and they helped us with the Sea Lurkers with their devices. But they’re but rumors. They’re a criminal organization in upper-world instead of underworld. Not many people can even reach them or touch them. You want me to go on a goose-chase, buy a sky ship find some sick old timer and just HOPE he can somehow find a solution to fix me? Am I really grasping at straws here with this, I’m cursed situation? This seems like a whole lot of dramatic theater for me, mate.” Lighter steps close in from the older Seeker to the more younger one equally battered and seasoned. “If you want treasures, freedom, to live. This is your only option. You can go return to biding your time out watching for which person is your downfall. You don’t fear death’s but it’ll come and that pain will be so destructive... You thought you knew nothing...” He’d frown, “Go, train. Find Arbiter’s Line. This isn’t something I can push you on. If you don’t do this... I’ll have to let her know. Do not be selfish on this one thing or allow your greed to consume you or be hesitant upon action.” Flicker the fairy strolled up and slapped Kuro with a stinging slap before heading back. “That’s for picking on me more lately!” She’d hide underneath a folded pocket on Hoku’s garb as they begun walking off to once again fade within the shadows. “Hey, old man.” The Cap’n of the Goldbrand spoke, Hoku stopped in tracks not turning but in listens. “Thanks, father... I’ll give it some thought.... I always did relish me some adventure! There’s got to be someone out there who can teach me something new!” He’d return his starry gaze to the seas before turning back and noticing they were gone and causing him splitting a gnarling-fanged curl of his lips.

#FFxivWrite2018 #hoku #kuro #father #son #developement #time to cut the bs #death #curses #pirates #assassins #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv rp #ffxiv miqo'te

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theepitomeofamess · 6 years

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pt. 2

Hopefully you enjoy this continuation, even though it’s mostly setup and probably bland

Words: 3345 (too many)

Warnings: mentions of addiction, light cursing

Despite his efforts, Logan didn’t sleep a wink that night. He told himself it was just because of all the sleep he’d gotten while he was unconscious, but he knew better. He could feel all the reasons his body wouldn’t let him sleep. Curled up in the mediocre bed with overly crisp sheets and not enough pillows, gripping his stomach with trembling arms, sheets kicked off his legs because of the pool of sweat engulfing him, soaked into the bed beneath him and his standard issue blue pants and white tee shirt, matting his hair. His jaw clenched in an attempt to keep his teeth from chattering every time he got a chill, but that only led to a tension headache in addition to the all-encompassing ache that started in his bones and spread like a virus through every nerve ending in his body. Somewhere deeper in his chest than usual, his heart pounded too hard, too fast. More than once throughout the night, a nurse came in to check up on him because his heart rate was too fast or his blood pressure was too high. The nurse taking the night shift in place of Patton wasn’t as practiced in bedside manner.

“It’ll be okay,” she’d said the second of three times she had to check on him that night, not even looking at him as she put something in his IV that was supposed to help his heart calm down. “I know withdrawal is hard, but with determination and a good support system, you’ll get through just fine. I remember how hard it was for me to kick cigarettes.” Logan’s entire face scrunched at the comment. He managed to sit up long enough to look the nurse in the eye before growling at her to get out. She didn’t speak the next time she showed up to adjust his medicine.

He still hadn’t shown up when someone in a pink necktie and tan sweater showed up in the chair next to his bed. He introduced himself as Dr. Picani, the hospital’s leading psychiatrist and therapist.

That was about when Logan mustered enough energy to flip himself onto his other side, his back to the doctor.

Dr. Picani kept talking to Logan’s back, though, telling him things like “I can't help you if you don't let me,” and singing lines from “Do you want to build a snowman” from Frozen. Every now and then, he’d ask a question, and there would be the sound of pencil on paper cutting the silence following the question. Eventually, Picani seemed to give up, sighing.

“Okie dokie, artichokie,” he sang, “I’m gonna be back in here in a few days, hopefully then your withdrawal agitation will have subsided a bit. In the meantime, I want you to come to my group therapy session tonight. It's all past addicts dealing with withdrawal and similar stories. I think you'll be our first heroin OD survivor, but hey, first time for everything, right?”

“I’m not going to any group therapy.”

“Patton’ll show you how to get there and meet you after to bring you back.”

“I don't do group things.”

“I’m legally required to determine whether you’re mentally fit before you can be discharged. Until then, you're going to stay here. Basically, if you want to get out of here, which I know you do, you’ll do what I say is best. Otherwise, I hope you're comfortable here.” Logan heard Picani stand up at start for the door. He desperately wanted to throw something at the guy, but there was nothing where he could get it that could be thrown with minimal effort.

“I don't do group shit,” Logan reasserted.

“All you have to do is show up, Logan. Just show up, and we’ll go from there.” The door clicked shut behind Picani, and Logan was alone again.

Not for long.

Roman showed up in Picani’s chair within what felt like five minutes of his departure. The clock on the wall said that it had been more like an hour, but Logan didn't feel like listening to some clock. What did it know, anyway? Hospitals are some of the main places where reality is distorted and time means nothing, like abandoned schools and highway rest stops and empty airports.

Roman didn't talk about anything in particular. Mostly, he rambled off about what had happened in the news that day and exciting things - aka everything - that happened at his job. There were moments in between his ramblings when Logan could hear Roman talking about what sounded like nothing but felt like everything. He actually listened to those moments. Roman talked about how he’d helped Virgil through a panic attack with a particular breathing exercise, how he’d babysat Virgil and Patton’s little brother Thomas a few days ago and some of the stuff the kid had said still stuck with him, how he was worried about all of the storms in the forecast, then talking about how listening to the rain can be just as satisfying as basking in the sun. His voice got smaller when he talked about these little thing, sounding like the soft glow of a candle in low light. When his voice started growing, flickering, Logan started to feel it rubbing him the wrong way. He knew at least part of his agitation was withdrawal, but Roman’s personality was just loud enough to irritate him.

And yet, he never told Roman to stop. He never told him to get out. He never even spoke. He just laid in his bed, listening to Roman talk for what must have been hours.

Logan had to admit, there was something comforting about having someone just there. Just being there and talking to him and not expecting him to expend energy in order to participate in conversation. Logan had always hated chatting, but if it could always be one-sided like this, then maybe he wouldn’t mind.

At some point, Logan managed to allow his eyelids to fall shut. He didn’t stop listening to Roman - he was talking about his theater’s production of The Tempest, and Logan had always had an interest in Shakespeare. Walking the line between awake and asleep, Roman stopped at some point to remove Logan’s glasses from his face so they wouldn’t bend against the pillow. Logan might’ve opened his eyes or told him to keep going, that he was listening, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Everything was just too heavy, his vocal chords pinned against the back of his throat, unable to move. After his glasses were removed, Logan felt fingers running through his hair, brushing bangs out of his face. A gentle sigh. He couldn’t bring himself to push Roman away.

“We just weren’t built for reality, were we?” Roman’s whispered musing confused Logan but burned his throat with tears. He’d never heard anything more true.

Roman’s fingers had just disappeared from Logan’s hair when he fell off the line between into unconsciousness.

No sooner had Logan fallen asleep than he was woken up by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Time to wake up, Lo. Let’s go see Dr.Picani.” Patton’s cotton candy voice made Logan sneer.

The sky had transformed from blue to orange beyond the window, pink cotton clouds floating effortlessly, carelessly. His hair was stuck where Roman had placed it, the sweat having dried to hold it in place like some sort of crappy natural hair spray. He felt filthy, like he could just rub his skin and a full layer of dirt and sweat and skin would crumble off of him. He sighed, putting all of the effort he could muster into sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed to rest on the floor. The linoleum was cold under his socks.

“Sorry to wake you when you’re finally getting sleep,” Patton apologized, “but doctor’s orders. Picani really cares about his patients, keeps track of every single one, especially new ones.”

“You know him well,” Logan sighed, standing up to try and retrain his trembling legs to retrain them to hold him up.

“Well, I’ve talked to him quite a bit. It helps that we work in the same place and he works with Virgil once a month.” Logan nodded, habitually memorizing everything that Patton said for future reference. “He’s great at what he does, helped Virge a lot. Gave him a bunch of ways to manage his anxiety, got him into art as a creative outlet and look at him now. Doing commissions online, going for a degree in art therapy because of what Picani did for him. I’ve never seen him so happy.” Patton’s eyes were distant, but the amber flecks among his dark irises sparkled with pride.

“You’re a little proud of your brother, aren’t you?” Logan half chuckled as Patton started leading him out to the hallway by the IV stand.

“Wouldn’t you be proud if your little brother was finally happy after being worried about him for so long?” Logan’s heart lurched. He blinked hard, breathing harder to block the happy memories laced with pain. The smile he would never see again, the smile that would never cross his own lips again.

“Do we have to take the IV thing? Won’t it just weigh me down?”

“IV fluids are important for heroin detox patients. Don’t want you getting dehydrated, do we? And given all that nausea you’ve been having, I’m not sure if I trust your stomach.” Logan pursed his lips. He’d have to stop asking Patton questions about medicine if he wanted to keep himself from being proven wrong. “Besides, it’s not far. See? Right down the hall.

Patton opened the door to what looked to be a conference room with a long table and a bunch of swivel chairs. Dr. Picani stood up to greet them, waving the two of them in. Logan really couldn’t rule out the possibility that the two of them were long lost cousins or something. The other people in the room didn’t stand, they didn’t even look at him, for which he thanked whatever god there might be. He could stand anything but a room of Picanis. He took note of the head of vibrant blue and pink curls intently watching their phone, the Hispanic looking girl with the worry beads who was talking to Roman, the black guy squatting in the chair, perched like a bird instead of sitting properly-

Roman?

“Take a seat, Logan. Anywhere you like.” Logan nodded at Picani, eyes still locked on where Roman was talking to the Hispanic girl. He moved around the table to take a seat near the end, an empty chair separating him and the person with the vibrant curls. Logan tried not to look up when Roman caught sight of him. He kept his eyes glued to the cup of pens sitting on the table, trying to count the pens to keep his mind off his trembling body and Roman.

“I didn’t know you got Picani.” Logan just about jumped out of his skin when Roman showed up beside him, gracefully sliding into the swivel chair separating Logan and the others.

“What-”

“I could’ve come and gotten you. Here, I’ll introduce you-”

“Alright alright alright,” Picani started, taking a seat across from the rest of them. “Hello, everyone. Do you how do?”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Roman answered while the others muttered about “okay” or “fine.” Logan could only furrow his brow.

“Awesome. So, how about we start the way we usually do so our newcomers can get accustomed. Roman, let’s start with you, then we’ll go around and come back to our newest addition.” Roman leaned forward, elbows pressed into the table, grin spreading wide across his face like butter across a hot pan.

“My name’s Roman, as this lovely man just said, and I’m doing better than expected. Currently three weeks sober after that little lapse, and reality’s horribly boring, but I got the role of Prospero in my school’s production of The Tempest, so can’t complain about that.”

“That’s awesome! Props to you!” Picani grinned at Roman before turning to the next person, who introduced themself as Talyn. Logan didn’t quite hear what they said, as they were very quiet and he was still focused on Roman. As soon as Picani’s attention shifted away from him, Roman’s smile faded and he started nodding to himself, like he was reassuring himself that he’d said the right thing.

Looking back at the cup of pens, Logan wondered what exactly had happened to Roman to land him there. He’d said that he was only three weeks sober after some kind of lapse. What was he trying to get sober from? How bad had he gotten before trying to get sober? He’d said that he thought of reality as boring, and he’d muttered something about neither of them being built for reality when he thought Logan was asleep. Eyes flicking from the pens up to Roman and back again, Logan took in the boy he barely knew bit by bit. Hair tinted with faded red dye, a red ruby red t-shirt under a white bomber jacket, lips curled into a perpetual smile but amber eyes sunken, unable to mirror the smile because it wasn’t sincere. Logan could just make out the pattern of concealer under Roman’s eyes, covering up what had to be dark circles. This man certainly was an actor.

Logan didn’t realize he was staring until he had to tear his eyes away because of Roman looking to him. It wasn’t until a moment of silence after that he realized everybody in the room was looking at him.

“Logan, you okay?” Picani’s question shook Logan back into reality. He nodded just enough to be visible to the others. Taking a deep breath, Logan quickly figured out what he was supposed to say based on Roman’s introduction. That was the only one he’d been present enough to hear.

“Logan. Heroin. In detox for a day now.” The rest of them continued to look at him, forcing him to cross his shaking arms over his chest. “That’s all you’re getting.”

“How are you doing, though,” Picani pressed.

“I’ve been in detox for a day to get off heroin, how do you think I’m doing?” A small snort escaped Roman as he tried not to laugh at the comment.

“Okay, fair point. Maybe you could tell us a bit more about what brought you here?”

“This guy,” Logan pointed his thumb at Roman, “brought me here.”

“How so?”

“He carried me.” Roman pursed his lips, trying desperately to stifle the laughter brought on by Logan’s snark. Sighing, Picani decided to stop questioning Logan and turn to the others, resolving that going back and forth with a snark machine wasn’t going to be productive for anyone.

Logan spent the rest of the meeting watching the sky outside the window behind Picani. The orange turned to red, then purple before finally turning an inky indigo. The pink in the clouds faded with the color of the sky, finally turning grey when there was no more light to illuminate them, leaving them muted and almost blending into the sky. The only reason they didn’t completely fade was the sliver of moon smiling down from the sky like the Cheshire Cat. Logan searched the sky for stars from where he sat, but a combination of obstruction by the window and light pollution, he wasn’t going to be able to see any stars from there.

“I think that’s our time for today.” It was only here that Logan started listening to Picani again. “Let’s all try to remember this week, if every pork chop were perfect…”

“We wouldn’t have hotdogs.” The unison response of all the other patients combined with the sheer absurdity of the words made Logan’s face scrunch up again. Picani might be a psychiatrist, but Logan thought he might just need one, himself.

Standing with everybody else, Logan moved a little too quickly, causing his head to fill with fuzz and his legs to give way. He only just heard his hand land against the wood of the table and felt Roman grab his arm and around his waist to help steady him. Logan shook his head, blinking hard in an attempt to clear his sight of the swarm of colored dots.

“Woah, careful,” Roman warned, his voice muffled in Logan’s head. Once Logan found himself steady again, he looked up at Roman to nod an assurance that he was okay. Taking his arm back from Roman’s grip, Logan felt his fingerprints linger on his skin. The same thing that happened last time…

“I’m all right,” Logan assured, stepping away so Roman’s other hand fell from its place on his side.

“Want me to walk you back to your room,” Roman offered, walking alongside Logan, signaling that he wasn’t going to give him much of a choice. Logan might’ve protested if he wasn’t focused on the squeaky wheel on his IV stand that he had to wheel around next to him. Tucking his hands into his pockets, Roman started up talking again. “That was pretty funny back there. I mean, people don’t usually talk to doctors like that. They’re like an authority figure, you don’t usually talk back to ‘em.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never really liked authority.” Logan’s comment coaxed another chuckle from deep in Roman’s chest.

“Still, you should give Dr.Picani a chance. He’s a little unorthodox, but he knows what he’s talking about.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Logan ended the line of conversation.

“You seemed kind of shocked to see me there,” Roman rerouted them.

“No offense, but you don’t seem like the type dealing with addiction or withdrawal.” Another chuckle. Logan was starting to think that Roman just really liked to laugh.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of practice in the field of convincing people I’m something I’m not. Mimicking body language to convey a certain message comes naturally now. In any case,” Roman opened the door for Logan when they got back to his room, “alcoholism is a lot easier to control and quit than heroin. You picked a doozy, my friend.”

“Yeah, well…” Logan trailed off, repositioning his IV next to the bed. “I guess I’ll see you next week, or whenever the next meeting is?”

“Oh, no,” Roman corrected, “you’re not getting off that easy. Virge and I are both gonna be coming in here to keep you company during visiting hours when we’re not in class or rehearsal or something. Gotta make sure you don’t take any steps backwards.”

“You don’t need to, I don’t want-”

“Too late.” Roman strolled across the room to put his arm around Logan’s shoulders. “Like it or not, you’ve got a support system, my friend. We’re not about to leave you to suffer alone. That’s not what friends do.” Logan could only blink at Roman’s smiling assurance. In his head, where there was usually a cacophony of voices and ideas and comments, now was only the Window’s error bump noise. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lo. Try to get some sleep.”

Climbing into bed as the door clicked shut behind Roman, Logan knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep. Roman’s fingerprints still burned on his arm, the weight of his hand still pressing against his shoulder. The warmth of him being so close, the way he’d been so matter-of-fact about how he put himself and his friends with Logan as though they’d known each other for years instead of a day. Logan wasn’t quite sure if he was thrilled or terrified, if he wanted to laugh or cry. There was definitely something there - a feeling, an emotion tied to Roman and the way he talked and somehow managed to always get close enough to make contact with Logan where he’d kept people at a distance for so long. He just couldn’t put a name to what it was, or whether it was positive or negative.

Damned emotions, always confusing him more instead of helping.

@syndianites @lollingtothemax

#sanders sides #logan sanders #fanfic #fanfiction #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #writing #write #help #too many ideas #too much homework #not enough time #hope you enjoy #i'm sorry

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xanthera · 7 years

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More OC stuff, aka Skye is possessed and Anya is pissed

I wrote this quite a while ago and I’m finally happy with it. Anya and Skye, the Final Fantasy OCs belonging to me @angel-bless, have some dealings with Bahamut that involve Skye being possessed by him on a semi-regular basis. I wanted to try to write a little something to test out his voice (he’s very grandiose) and play with pronouns because of Skye and Bahamut inhabiting the same body, then it turned into an excuse to write a shitty fight scene, THEN in turned into “I’m dangerous when I’m possessed and someday I might really hurt you” angst with a side of “This is more than a fling I really do care about you” confessions and fluff, so it’s kind of all over the place. Also I may have fudged some details on our lore; I can’t remember all of the intricacies of Bahamut’s motivations because it’s been a long time, plus I mostly just wanted to show how much of a dick he is, but hey, it was still fun.

Also this is long. Sorry mobile users.

Anya glowers as Skye’s body slowly sits upright. A pair of yellow eyes that should be blue flicker in the light of the campfire and turn on the blackbelt, and a smirk that isn’t her own plays on Skye’s face as a pair of wings slowly unfurl from her back.

“I can see that you are aching to shout at me, yet again,” the not-Skye says. “Why do you hold your tongue?” The booming voice of a god echoes alongside Skye’s, loud enough travel for miles, yet unheard by any but Anya.

She narrows her eyes and gestures to her sleeping teammates, but does not move from her sitting position. You’re a god, she thinks. You don’t actually need me to talk out loud, do you?

“I suppose that is true.” Bahamut tips their head to the side with an audible crack, and Anya can’t help a dry smile.

Funny, I thought you said that us mortals were the “brazen” ones.

“And what brazen action has offended you so?”

Popping her neck like that. Her neck, not Bahamut’s. Hers. What are you trying to prove? That you’re some kind of tough guy? You’re Bahamut. I already know damn well how strong you are, so save your intimidation tactics; they’re unnecessary and we both know it.

Bahamut barks a laugh. “Ha! How very astute. No pretenses, then.”

No pretenses? Fine, then I’ll cut to the chase: why her? She had no say in this. Why not an acolyte or priest? Surely somewhere in the world there’s a cultist who would jump at the chance to be… in such an honorable position.

“Ah, now that is an interesting topic. But perhaps we should discuss the matter somewhere more private? Your friends are sleeping; it would be a shame to wake them.” Wings flare, and Bahamut flies at Anya before she can open her mouth to scream, grabbing her and soaring into the air and over the forest canopy. Anya wrenches herself free and dives for a large tree-branch, then swings to the forest floor with a thud.

Bahamut floats down and hovers before her, a small smile on Skye’s lips. They gesture with one taunting finger: come and get me.

Anya obliges.

“You didn’t give her a choice!” She tries desperately to grapple and pin Skye to the nearest tree, but the possessed woman dodges each of her frenzied strikes with ease. “Why wouldn’t you find a willing servant?!”

They scowl. “Disgusting little creature.” Bahamut grabs Anya’s collar with one hand and hurls her to the side, sending her crashing through the trees. She slams hard into a large oak and coughs as the breath is knocked from her lungs. She collapses to her knees, fighting for air as Skye’s body moves to hover before her. “Mere mortals cannot even fathom the true depths of the power I wield. To share it with one of you pathetic insects is no idle thing. An acolyte? Someone so dedicated, so eager? Even if one of those groveling worms had twice the strength of the this one, I could not choose them. A person who would freely, nay, happily accept such a task would be too willful. My power would utterly corrupt any mortal who sought it.” They take Anya’s chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look up at Skye’s – Bahamut’s – cruel smile. “Or have you forgotten so easily the evil your kind can inflict upon itself in the name of proving superiority? In the end, they would destroy themselves, and everything around them.”

Anya snarls and seizes Skye’s wrist, pulling them to the ground and jumping to her feet herself with the momentum. She bares her fists and roars, “Then care for your damn host! She had no choice, so at least protect her from the danger you’re putting her in!” She makes direct contact with Skye’s corrupted eyes. “Skye, I know you’re in there! You have to fight him! Do you hear me?! FIGHT HIM!”

“Ah, but she is fighting,” Bahamut sneers. “I can feel it. She’s begging me not to hurt you, but you seem determined to get in my way. That makes it a rather difficult request to grant, wouldn’t you agree?”

Anya just barely manages to avoid being slashed in the eyes as Bahamut rakes one clawed hand across her face. She rolls to the side, blood beginning to seep from three shallow cuts on her cheek. “Skye, please! You can stop this!” She spies an opening, and dives for their waist, tackling them to the ground.

There’s a sickening cracking sound as Skye’s shoulder smashes against the earth and dislocates, and Bahamut chuckles. “And now you’ve hurt her.” They kick Anya away and effortlessly stretch the injured arm until it pops back into place with another awful crack. “I wonder, then, if I have misjudged you. Maybe you don’t care about her.”

The barely-contained anger in Anya’s stomach becomes an inferno, and a feral growl bubbles up from her throat as her very Soul contorts with fury. Her eyes flash red, her teeth and nails and ears lengthen, and tendrils of dark, ethereal fire slowly surround her.

Bahamut smirks and stands upright. “Touched a nerve, did I?”

She howls and barrels toward them. “GET OUT!”

Bahamut attempts to sidestep the charge, but Anya’s rage drives her forward at blinding speed. She grabs Skye’s shoulders and slams her chest against a tree, twisting one arm behind her back and pinning her in what should be an excruciating hold, but Bahamut makes no sound.

“You can’t even feel this, can you?” Anya growls. “The pain?”

“And what would make you assume that?”

Anya yanks out a slab of tree bark that has embedded itself in Skye’s forearm. “If you could feel her pain,” she hisses, tossing the bloodied bark away, “you would have noticed this.”

The foreign laugh that escapes Skye’s mouth is nothing short of gleeful.

“Very good, human!”

In a split second, Anya has the possessed woman on the ground, both wrists pinned beside her head. Her voice is low and dangerous as she stares into unearthly yellow irises. “Why would you do this to her? She’s your conduit and you’re killing her.”

“Typical, selfish human. So eager to keep her with you. But you can rest assured that she will not die. I will see to that.” The dragon god smiles cruelly. “Pain is not deadly, after all; simply a bit unpleasant.”

The thunderous voice that escapes Anya’s mouth is inhuman. “You fucking monster!” The spectral flames roar and swell around her. “Leave her! I’ll die before I let you do this to her anymore!”

“If I try to leave her before this task is done, she will die! Would you have her perish so?! The woman you claim to care so deeply for?!”

Anya freezes. “That… that can’t… you’re lying. She can’t die, I won’t—”

“I grow tired of this willful ignorance of yours,” Bahamut spits. “If you truly believe that you can alter the destiny that I have laid out for her - alter the machinations of Bahamut himself! - then you may be among the most impudent little maggots that I have ever had the misfortune to come across.”

A heavy pause hangs in the air, and then it’s Anya’s turn to laugh, bitter and subdued.

“Maybe I am, but we mortals do tend to be pretty stupid when we’re in love.”

Skye’s mouth drops open slightly, and yellow eyes flicker blue for a moment. She closes them and shakes her head; when they open again the blue is flecked with yellow.

“A-anya…?”

It’s her voice. Strangled and distorted, but hers.

“Skye!”

“Anya I-I’m here but I … I can’t g-get… I-I’m stuck… I can’t—”

She convulses underneath Anya, and Bahamut’s yellow eyes return, as well as his voice, but now there is no trace of Skye’s voice hidden within the deafening, bestial screech of a god. “Meddlesome creature!” It’s all Anya can do to keep them from breaking free of her grasp. “Filthy, meddlesome insect! I shall devour every one of you pitiful little mortals, and you shall be the first! I—”

More thrashing, and Skye’s voice rips from her mouth in a scream. “No! You can’t!”

Bahamut’s yellow takes over once more, and they fix Anya with a look of primal hatred. Anya yelps as Bahamut finally manages to struggle free. She rolls to the side to avoid a knee to the gut, but suddenly she’s grabbed by the throat and hoisted into the air. She scrabbles helplessly at her neck as Bahamut squeezes harder.

“I SHALL END YOU!”

Skye’s body freezes. Her arm shakes violently, and just as abruptly as she grabbed Anya, she releases her. She topples to the ground, coughing, as Skye cries out, her own voice drowning out Bahamut’s roar.

“You won’t touch her!”

And then it’s quiet. The only sounds are the soft wind in the trees and Anya’s labored breathing, and then a soft thump as the dragoon falls to her knees. Anya looks up to see that Bahamut’s telltale wings and ears have vanished, leaving only Skye, her blue eyes staring blankly ahead, hands limp at her sides.

“Skye, it’s…” Anya’s voice shakes as her Soul begins to calm and the ghostly flames fade away. “It is you, right?” Skye’s eyes are her own, yes, but they are dim, distant, fixed on nothing. Anya approaches and kneels beside her, places one hand on the older girl’s shoulder. “Skye, come back to me, okay? He’s gone. You’re—”

Skye dives into Anya’s arms and clings to her desperately. Her shoulders tremble with sobs, and she mutters into Anya’s chest, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Anya pulls Skye closer to her. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” she murmurs, rubbing her back. “I’m here. You’re here. I’m right here with you. You’re okay now. We’re both going to be fine.” She wants to cry, too, but not now. Right now, she needs to be strong enough for both of them.

She isn’t sure how long they stay like that, Skye shaking quietly and Anya holding her as close as possible, but eventually Skye pulls away slightly, just enough to look up at Anya with watery eyes. “Anya, did you…” She wipes her eyes with the back of her fist. “Did you mean what you said? About…”

Anya smiles and places a gentle kiss on the top of Skye’s head. “Every word.”

Skye chokes on another sob. She sits back and covers her mouth with her hand. “I don’t deserve you,” she whimpers. “Gods damn it all, I don’t deserve you. I’m such a bloody mess. And I’m dangerous. I can’t control him.” She reaches out and tentatively touches the fresh claw-marks on Anya’s cheek. “How many times have I hurt you now? I don’t know what I’ll do if he… if I…” It remains unsaid, but they both know how that sentence ends.

Anya takes Skye’s hand in one of her own. “Skye, that wasn’t you. Hey.” She cups Skye’s face with one hand and meets her eyes. “Listen to me. That wasn’t you. None of this is your fault. And I’m still here. See?” She places Skye’s hand on her chest over her pounding heart and brushes a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. She chuckles and says, “I’m a bit of a mess, myself, you know. We’re going to get through this, somehow. Together.”

A long silence, and then Skye embraces Anya again, gentler this time, and buries her face in the crook of her neck. “Thank you.”

Deep in the farthest parts of Skye’s Soul and within his own nebulous plane of existence, Bahamut seethes. But Anya and Skye can’t hear him. All they can hear is the wind, their own heartbeats, and Skye as she draws in a quivering breath and whispers, “I love you, too.”

#xan writes #skye/anya #ff:r #skye silvestris #anya gorbunov

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